


The Reality of Expectations

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Porn Star Greg, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 131,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has long taken comfort, and pleasure, from the films of a certain porn star, following the man through decades of his career.  Now, that man has plunged into his life and Mycroft has no choice but to move from fantasy to reality as they get to know one another...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a [specific photoset](http://lordnochybaty.tumblr.com/post/141339807164/mystrade-in-thirty-different-au-settings-x) created by the amazing [LordNochybaty](http://lordnochybaty.tumblr.com/), which posited a porn star au for Mycroft and Greg. Definitely stop by [their tumblr](http://lordnochybaty.tumblr.com/) and pay respects if the story is to your liking, because they deserve accolades for their talent and creativity!

Mycroft palmed his hardening cock through his trousers, waiting, as he always did, for the precise moment to unfasten the front and touch, instead the undergarments beneath.  Then, it was another wait, this one far more difficult, until he allowed himself to slide his hand beneath the fine fabric and lay hands on his bare skin, shuddering at the intensity of the sensation.  It was filthy.  Sordid and base.  But it was his most effective and powerful soothing ritual and had kept his mind and spirit calm, even on horrendous days such as today or when his personal demons and anxieties tore at him with teeth and talons and threatened to shatter his veneer of ultimate poise and control.

And the ritual had been his salvation for what seemed his entire life.  Not quite so, of course, because he did not make his stroll and pass the distasteful shop until he was at university, but that was decades ago and, since that moment, he felt as if he had entered a new world.  Or, at least, taken from that world a single denizen and carried him in his pocket from that day forward.  He had been bewitched… captivated by the whippet-lean body and warm brown eyes that beckoned from the inexpertly-crafted cover of the videotape that sat in the shop window.  His breathtaking nudity was not even noticed, at first, so exquisite was beauty of his face and form.  It was a unique and unconquerable urge that pushed him to dart inside the seedy establishment and steel himself to make the transaction, racing back to his rooms to furtively play the video and fall so deeply under the spell of this man’s virility and sensual appeal that he had never been able to escape.

Not that he had any desire to do so, for he hungered, without diminishment, for this single, intoxicating man.  His body was not so lean anymore and his hair had lost its vibrant brown, but had achieved, instead a stunning silver than nearly glowed in intensity.  Despite age, though, his eyes were still as transfixing, as was the vibrancy of his smile and… what could be said about his primal magnetism that inspired the most overpowering sexual need?  A need that blanked all else from the mind and focused all thought and emotion on a single, manageable act?  He had sought others, of course.  Purchased countless videos and magazines filled with men of every type, giving or accepting every form of physical pleasure and none had ever satisfied for more than a few, fleeting moments.

It was absurd, taken academically.  Here he was, a gentleman of wealth, power and maturity, masturbating to the sex acts unfolding on the large television in his bedroom, fantasizing about the mature, skillful and shameless man fully exposed for his view, who was preparing to take the willing, eager youth presenting his slender arse for… DAMNATION!

Mycroft rolled over to snatch his phone off the nightstand, cursing that the fluidy evidence of his growing arousal was now smeared on the bedcover and vowed that if this was not the announcement of Armageddon, the caller was next on the list of individuals to be sent to one of the highly-classified and entirely disavowed secret prison facilities where prisoner treatment was not high on the list of priorities.

      “Yes?”

      “There has been a development in the Drake situation, Mr. Holmes.”

And further damnation.  This particular business had already created a hell on Earth for him and, it appeared, had not completed releasing its minions to wreak havoc.  Marcus Drake… an odious individual who profited heavily from selling arms to any manner of buyer and none who might, even charitably, be called patriotic freedom fighters.  Every havoc-wreaking group on their extensive watchlist had dealings with him, or so it was suspected, for the villain had yet to leave available any documentable trace of his workings.  It had been _months_ of tireless work to create a credible scenario to lure Drake to London, ostensibly to meet with a new faction seeking a rather impressive volume of weaponry, but here he was and in their grip he needed to stay.  The information he could provide, given the right persuasion, defined the term invaluable, to say nothing of the subsequent unraveling of his unholy network of chaos.

      “Which is?”

      “He’s dead.”

The universe was hellbent on making him a suicide.  There was no other explanation.

      “How?”

      “It’s… it’s a serious situation, sir.  He was surprised by armed gunmen in his hotel suite.  I believe it would be best if you were here to oversee matters.”

The suicide would have to wait, it appeared.  Good.  If the coda of his life was to be found, self-strangled and half naked in bed, with an adult film playing on his telly, he first needed to negotiate the film rights so that Sherlock might see a boost to his already impressive inheritance.

      “Send a car.”

      “Yes sir.  I’ll dispatch one immediately.”

Which meant he had a few minutes to tidy himself, implement less effective measures to bring the various aspects of himself to heel and return to his duties.  Not that he ever truly had the luxury of setting them aside, but… no, no wishing for what was not to be.

Laying his hand on the telly remote, Mycroft bid a silent farewell to Gerard Lestrange for the evening, but with a promise to return as soon as humanly possible.  Such an appalling affected name his seducer had chosen, but not out of bounds for the work the man performed.  Oddly, despite the obvious false identity, he never harbored even the slightest inclination to investigate the object of his obsession.  It would… diminish the allure.  Some things should remain fantasy, especially some things like this…

__________

Oh good heavens…

      “Mr. Holmes… as you can see, this is…”

Devastation.  This was an assassination effort designed to be anything other than clean, controlled or undiscovered.  This was a blatant and pointed message, one that a child could understand.  If there was not an individual or individuals now grasping for the threads of Drake’s network to draw them together in a new fist, he would be greatly surprised.

      “How did this occur?  Marcus Drake is not an incautious person and travels with exceedingly well-trained and highly-paid individuals to prevent this very thing.”

The look on his subordinate’s face gave Mycroft pause and he directed a few additional sections of his mind to pay attention to the man’s information.

      “Apparently, and it’s an open secret in certain circles that Drake is… well, he’s _that way_ and…”

      “Pardon?”

Not that clarification was required with the wrist gesture that accompanied the scornful tone, but Mycroft did like to ensure he was possessing a full picture before he saw an individual sacked from government service.

      “He’s… one of _those_.  Has a taste not the norm, if you take my meaning, sir.”

      “Oh, I believe I do.  Please, continue.”

      “It’s a fairly regular thing, especially when he travels, to… shall we say… sample the local cuisine and he sends his guards out of the suite while he… entertains.  Paid entertainment appears to be the standard, as it was tonight.  Gets his money’s worth, apparently, because his fun can last for _hours_... and the fellows he contracts for his security have taken to using that time as an opportunity to visit the hotel bar for a few drinks or run up the room service tab on Drake’s bill.”

      “They leave him unprotected.”

      “And, that information seems to have made its way to unfriendly ears.”

      “I see.  The fate of the aforementioned entertainment?  I see only a single body here.”

      “Well… he’s in the bedroom.  And alive.”

      “They left a witness?”

      “I don’t think it was the plan, but one of the reasons we chose to steer Drake towards this particular hotel was…”

      “Bullet-resistant construction and reinforced doors.  He locked himself in the bedroom and they could not breach.”

      “We were in motion the moment we saw muzzle flashes at the window, but we were across the street and, with the traffic, it took us several minutes to get in here.  I suppose the gunmen realized that their target was likely to be phoning the police and cut their losses.  They were gone by the time we arrived and it was only a few minutes ago that we were able to convince the… guest… to open the bedroom door to let us in.”

Not a fool, then.  That was something.  The question would be…

      “What did he see?”

      “Little, though I can’t be certain he’s not simply keeping quiet about things.  Can’t blame him.  I doubt his type is particularly happy about having their actions under scrutiny.”

      “Verily.  And you kept him on the premises?”

      “I thought you would want to speak to him personally.  And quickly.”

      “Quite.”

Mycroft made a ‘now please’ gesture and mentally smirked at the tiny hop as his operative moved towards what must be the bedroom, which sported a door that showed clear evidence of taking its fair share of bullets, none of which seemed to have made it past the reinforcement.  Behind that door, besides several agents standing their own guard was a single, dressing-gown clad person sitting on the scandalously-large bed who…

      “This is…”

Oh no.

      “Mr. Gerard Lestrange, or so he says for he won’t offer any documents to confirm his identity.  Can’t imagine that’s his real name, though.”

Oh no no no no no.

      “Mr. Holmes?”

This could not be happening.

      “Sir?”

      “Hey… what’s wrong with him?”

      “Kindly do not address Mr. Holmes in that manner, Lestrange.”

      “Fuck you.”

This absolutely _was_ hell and the way out was nowhere to be seen…


	2. Chapter 2

Not happening not happening not happening

      “Th… there is no need for vulgarity, as well as no need for chastisement.  I…”

Know every part of your body.  Have long imagined the scent of your skin and the sensation of your hands on mine.

      “I would appreciate, Mr. Lestrange, if you w… would be amenable to answering a few questions.”

Such as the depravity you long to enact on my body.  What you feel when you take me in the fashion you were near to taking your lover not even an hour ago.

      “I might.  Depends on what they are.”

      “Being cheeky won’t help you, Lestrange.”

      “Being an arsehole won’t help you either, man in the cheap, ugly suit.”

How brazen… must _not_ show that this new, churlish turn is deliciously arousing. Also, mustn’t laugh at the person about to be sacked.  That was simply too cruel.

      “Gentlemen?  If you please?  I trust, Mr. Lestrange, that nothing shall skirt on areas you are not prepared to discuss.  Now, did you recognize any of the individuals that caused this situation?”

      “No, not at all.”

      “Very well.  Can you describe for me what transpired when they arrived?”

      “We were in the main room of the suite, having a drink… I don’t know how they, and there were two of them, got into the room because there wasn’t a knock or announcement or anything.  The door just opened, they walked in and, as soon as I saw a hand reach under a lapel, I dove for the bedroom.  I don’t know what happened after that besides what I heard, which you can probably piece together.”

      “Yes, that is not entirely a difficult puzzle.”

      “I’d hoped there was another room, maybe a connecting door, through the bedroom or a window I might open, but there wasn’t, so I jumped into the closet, because it was off the path of the door and waited until I heard the shots and banging stop.  They must have done something to the walls and doors in this hotel, because all of that should have had them in the room quickly, but, only one shot made it through.”

Which Mycroft was now noticing came through a section of the wall that had slipped his first perusal due to the dark patterning of the wallpaper.

      “I think they fired at that spot a number of times and weakened whatever was holding back the rest of the shots.  I don’t consider myself especially lucky, but, apparently, I was lucky enough.”

      “I will not disagree.  And, you are likely correct.  A reinforced door is not unheard of, but most neglect to provide walls with any degree of protection and a shot fired between studs _can_ be effective given enough power behind it.  This hotel was _not_ neglectful, it appears, and the intruders were unaware of that fact.”

Further, it was a smart decision to leave the main body of the room, where the shots were surely to be aimed.  Definitely not a stupid man…

      “Did you notify the authorities, Mr. Lestrange?”

      “Uh… no.  Your lot got here fast, only a few moments before I was going to peek out and see what was the story, actually, but…”

Another puzzle that was not difficult to piece together was sitting plainly on their witness’s face.

      “You were hopeful to leave without evidence you had been here in the first place.”

      “Not going to lie about it.  I don’t know what’s going on, but I _do_ know it’s not something I want to become involved in.  I was just hired for a little fun, you know?  Dance, maybe… put on a private show.  I don’t do these sorts of jobs often, but they’re quick, easy money and this one paid better than most.”

      “Which must be important for you, given age has to be a detriment to a whore.”

Fortunately, Mycroft was standing a few meters from his subordinate so the blood from the man’s broken nose didn’t insult Mycroft’s lovely waistcoat, though the elder Holmes took pains to check, nonetheless.

      “YOU BROKE MY FUCKING NOSE!”

      “I’ll break your jaw, too, you twat!  First, I’m not a whore, I’m an entertainer.  Second, even if I did trade sex for money, it’s hard, honest work and not worth your looking-down-the-nose at it.  It’s arseholes like you that make it a shite world for those of us who earn our living from other people’s lust or loneliness, but we’re fulfilling a need like anybody else and not hurting anyone in the process!  Fuck you and fuck you twice for good measure.”

After checking that his jacket successfully covered what was quickly becoming a highly-demanding erection, Mycroft extracted his pocket square and handed it to the man dripping blood between the fingers pressed against his face, ignoring the associated groaning as he turned to speak to the agitated man now on his feet and balling his fist for another round.  My god, but his fantasy was majestic when boiling with righteous anger. 

      “I feel your message has been received, Mr. Lestrange, therefore, I would appreciate it if you would stand down so Her Majesty is not required to pay for an even greater amount of cosmetic surgery.”

      “That one needs to learn manners.”

      “True, but I fail to see how a greater quantity of blood will emphasize your point.  Now, I believe it is time to move this discussion to a slightly less busy environment and where we might gain from you a description of the individuals involved.  Do you… I assume you did not arrive in that dressing gown.”

A step back and a small, frustrated sigh helped reassure Mycroft that another punch was not going to be thrown, which was good since he was not entirely certain he could resist applauding if it occurred.

      “Clothes are in the bath.”

      “If you would change into them, I will see a car is ready to take us… to a more accommodating location.”

Mycroft tried to smile as encouragingly and non-threateningly as he could, knowing neither was in any manner his forte, and breathed a felt a swell of relief when his most shameful secret turned and walked to the bath, closing the door behind him.

      “He hit me!”

Oh yes.  You are still here.

      “With substantial provocation, so it is certainly not surprising.  I find myself wondering if this is the proper avenue of employment for you, actually.  I shall discuss the matter with the human resource director and see if something more suitable might be found…”

Such as a dole queue.

      “… for now, make your way to hospital and see that nose tended to.  I am sure you have no wish for the remainder of your days to whistle when you breathe.”

Now making a ‘move along’ gesture, Mycroft enjoyed the sight of a scurrying rat for a moment before stepping out of the bedroom to gather the current on-site information and issue directions on how to handle the situation, including hotel staff and the inevitable arrival of the local police service.  It wasn’t more than a few minutes, however, until he heard behind him the clearing of a voice and turned to feel his knees turn to jelly, seeing Lestrange dressed in what could only be termed an exquisite suit, sporting finger-combed hair and a saucy cock to his hip.

      “Not what you were expecting, mate?”

      “In… in truth, I had given no thought to how you might arrive for such an assignation, but I do compliment you on your tailor.”

It was only the ghost of a smile, but Mycroft saw it clearly and did his best to ignore how beautifully it lit the man’s already-stunning features.

      “Thanks.  I have one or two of these set aside for important meetings, special jobs and… well, it’s nice now and again to go to the theater or visit a fine restaurant.  Can’t saunter in looking like I’ve just come off the football pitch, now can I?”

      “Perish the thought.  Shall we?”

And, please, do not notice how much of my mental ability it is taking to maintain a composed and affable demeanor, Gerard, if I may be so bold as to use your pseudonymous given name.  A diversity of situations, nearly incalculable in quantity and difficulty, I have navigated with extreme ease, yet I am scarcely surviving second to second interacting with you.  Oh good, you are walking quickly and failing to further to engage me in conversation, which could easily mark my downfall, for my portfolio of so-termed ‘small talk’ is thinner than a banker’s charitable spirit.

Stopping only a moment to inform the hotel manager that his cooperation was not only expected, but _required_ by various levels of government, Mycroft escorted his charge outside and paused slightly, looking for their vehicle, which he finally saw when the driver exited and moved around to open the rear door and stand ready to receive orders.

      “Ah.  There we are.  I do apologize for the inconvenience, however, I assume you recognize the importance of this situation.”

      “Sure.  I mean, I’d rather be finding a cab to take me home, but… questions have to be answered, I suppose.”

      “That they do, unfortunately, though I shall try to make the process as painless as possible.”

For the mere thought of aggrieving you further is, rather unprofessionally, abhorrent to me at the moment and this is an area of my career, apparently, that needs to be addressed.  Not that this situation has _any_ possibility of occurring again.  Ever.  In a millennium’s worth of time.  There is not a person in this world or any other who mesmerizes me as do you.

It was another moving along gesture from Mycroft that started them walking towards the car, nearly reaching it when the first sharp crack sounded, followed by the driver clutching his thigh and crumpling onto the pavement.  Without thinking, Mycroft shoved Lestrange through the open rear door and ran around to the other side as a second shot rang out, sliding behind the wheel and speeding the vehicle from the scene, immediately grabbing the car’s radio to report their situation.

      “You left him!”

Mycroft dragged the hand off his shoulder that was attempting, it seemed, to pull him back toward the injured driver and kept his eyes firmly on the road.

      “The shot was in the leg and did not hit a major vessel.  As he was not the target, there would be no need to damage him further, so it is highly improbable he suffered any further threat.  An ambulance will arrive in under eight minutes and there will be members of the team in the hotel suite attending him in less than two.”

      “Oh… I… shite.”

      “Keep your head below window level until I say otherwise.”

      “I… ok.”

Quickly checking that his passenger was complying, Mycroft forced himself to slow his breathing and ran a brace of scenarios through his head, settling on one that, despite its personal consequences, was likely the safest.  Returning to the radio, he barked out an additional series of orders and turned the car in the direction of his first target, a parking structure, where he drove to the lowest level to find the waiting car.

      “Move.  Quickly.”

Lestrange looked up and seeing the idling vehicle next to them with doors open, he dashed over and, once Mycroft was again behind the wheel, they drove off, along with three other cars who headed in three different directions.

      “Jesus… this is… what the fuck is going on?”

      “I do not know, but that is what I intend to learn.  Remain out of sight and, again, move when I tell you.”

      “Yeah… ok.”

And, to Mycroft’s overwhelming relief, Lestrange obeyed immediately the next four times they performed a vehicle exchange and it was only after the last one that Mycroft felt confident to give his passenger the green light to sit up and stretch out his tightened muscles.

      “Where we going?”

      “Somewhere safe.  This is… I do not know why you remain a target, but that has implications on a larger scale that cannot be ignored.”

      “Look, just let me out and…”

      “That will not be happening.”

      “You can’t hold me prisoner!”

      “Better a live prisoner than the alternative, don’t you think?”

      “I can take care of myself.”

      “From an unknown threat?  One that does not shy away from an attempt on your life, even with a notable government presence on scene?”

      “I _can_ take care of myself.  Done it all my life.”

      “We shall discuss this later.  For now… we are here.”

Lestrange looked around and found himself in a very expensive neighborhood, parked in front of a large, elegant structure.

      “Where’s here?”

      “My home.”

      “You brought me to _your_ house?”

      “Traveling to the nearest prepared safehouse would keep you exposed for an unacceptable length of time.  This is the most efficient solution.”

      “Fuck me.  This is… this is insane!  All I did was show up for a job!”

      “Such is most common, I’m afraid, for both witnesses and victims.  Come, we need to be off of the street.”

Hoping his legs would support him, Mycroft exited the vehicle and walked around to wait for Lestrange to join him, which took acceptably long enough for Mycroft to perform certain mental exercises to center himself and gather as many of his scattered mental strands as he could.  This _was_ insane.  Demonstrably and verifiably.  He should not do this.  He should _not_ do this.  Yet, here he was, with a phantasm standing at his side, waiting for the next act of their little play.

      “Well, we going inside or what?”

Which was to begin now…


	3. Chapter 3

“This is nice.  You’ve got a nice house.”

      “Thank you.  I do… I find it comfortable.”

And am suffering a profound level of anxiety that you are standing inside of it, exposed to the various aspects of my personality that have structured this space, certainly passing judgement on what you see and the person responsible for it.

      “I wager you do.  Look… can I get a glass of water or something?”

      “Y… yes.  Of course.  Do follow me.”

And ignore entirely that I have seen every of your films and know that any number of them begin with your arrival at someone’s home under some vague pretense and being invited inside for an innocuous reason, such as obtaining a glass of water or performing a small repair of some form.  Also ignore that my control, given this realization, is tenuous at best and forgive any lapses in attention or focus on our conversation.

      “Very nice.  This is the sort of kitchen I’d love to have.  Cook a lot?”

Why are you so affable?  So approachable and… normal?

      “Now and again, though I do not often have the opportunity, given the demands of my work.”

      “Oh.  Yeah, I understand that.  Long hours and longer weeks.  Water?”

Yes, that is the reason we are here, correct, and not for me to stand and avoid staring directly into your spellbinding eyes.

      “I do apologize.  I am continuing to reflect upon the evening’s events and not taking proper steps to present myself as an acceptable host.”

      “Well, I’m not at my best right now, either.  Can you… what _is_ your name, anyway?  I feel stupid being in your house and not knowing what to call you.”

Can we not leave matters the way they are?  The countless numbers of times I have imagined my name slipping from between your lips, spoken in a breathless and aroused tone… or a commanding and dominant voice… does not bear contemplation.  However, I suppose you cannot remain here and simply refer to me as ‘you.’

      “Mycroft.  Mycroft Holmes.”

      “That’s different.  Never heard that one before, but… it suits you.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Lestrange.”

I think.

      “Yeah, you can drop that, if you like.  I’m not feeling very mister-y at the moment.”

      “Alright, G… Gerard.”

No no no no… don’t laugh.  Do not fill my kitchen with your roughened laughter that lapses into a rich chuckle that does intolerable things to me.  And always has.

      “It’s balls, isn’t it?”

      “Pardon?”

      “The name!  I’ve got no pride invested in it, since I didn’t choose it, so feel free to agree it’s complete shite.”

      “Oh, I see.  I… I admit that you did not strike me as a Gerard.”

      “Me either, but my first agent thought it sounded foreign and exotic and… I thought I’d toss it after a few jobs, but people started to ask for me by that name and I was stuck with it.  Greg.  Just use Greg.”

      “Gregory… that is far more fitting…”

Though far more banal.

      “… and for Lestrange?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as a wary look crossed Greg’s face and filed it away for further thought.

      “Greg’s good enough, ok?”

      “Of course, I did not mean to pry.”

      “Good.  And what is it exactly you do, Mycroft Holmes?  I heard you giving out orders like you had no doubt they’d be obeyed instantly, so I assume you’re high up on the ladder.”

      “Heavens no, I am simply a minor government official, though my duties do extend into a diversity of areas.”

      “Alright, if that’s your story, then that’s your story and I’ll pretend it’s the truth.”

Not an unintelligent man, in the least, was he?

      “Most magnanimous of you.”

      “Want to tell me, though, what’s going on?  Why the bloke I’m there to see is slaughtered like one of those gangsters in a crap American film?”

      “I am not at liberty to provide details, unfortunately, however, I would ask if you have any to provide to _me_ about your employer.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Did he specify a certain time for you to arrive, indicate why he chose you, specifically, reassure you your… contracted services… would not have an audience… anything about Mr. Drake’s agreement with you could be useful.”

      “Oh… well, I don’t know much, really, because my agent handled the details.  Just phoned me and asked if I wanted the work.  I do know I was asked for by name, but… that dead fellow didn’t hire me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The tingle that went through Mycroft’s spine had nothing to do with arousal and did a laudable job of clearing the lingering lust from his mind.

      “Repeat that.”

      “That Drake chap didn’t hire me.  It’s common actually.  Someone’s having a birthday or gets a rise at work… maybe it’s a thank you for a job well done, but someone like me is hired to brighten their day even further.  You’d have to talk to Kevin, my agent, to find out who actually paid the bill.”

      “Why did Drake even let you in?  He is… was… not one to trust that easily.”

      “Since I’m not one of those psychics, or a medium, I don’t really know, but I was told to say that I was… what was it… oh yeah!  a little extra for speedy delivery.  I’ve been hired for stranger reasons, so it didn’t seem odd.  You seem to think it is, though.”

Odd?  No.  Worrying?  Yes.

      “It adds a new dimension to the scenario.  This was not a case of waiting for an expected opportunity and capitalizing upon it, but setting the situation in motion from the very start.”

      “Ummm… shouldn’t you be doing some minor government official thing about it, then?”

Mycroft cut eyes at Greg and found them met with a startling frankness.  Almost challenging, in point of fact.  There was no hesitancy or meekness at all in this creature was there?  God help him, but there wasn’t, and that was not a gladdening thing for his libido.

      “Likely, but I can spare a moment to show you to a room and… I believe I might find for you something more casual to wear.”

      “How about I just go home and find that more casual wear myself.”

      “I assure you that the moment it is demonstrably safe to do so, you will be allowed to return to your home, however, for now, please take advantage of whatever hospitality I can offer to make your stay here an enjoyable one.”

What an erudite demonstration of cordiality.  It only required the entirety of my mental agility to fabricate.

      “Bollocks.  Fine!  But, can someone, at least, bring me some things from my flat?  I’d rather be in my own clothes and there are a couple of scripts I need to read.”

Scripts?  For… films…

      “Sc…scripts?”

      “Yeah, scripts.  Told you I was an entertainer.  Acting, mostly.  In adult films, if you hadn’t guessed.  Dancing, too, in nice clubs, though not nearly as much as I did when I was younger.  My knee starts playing silly buggers now and again and that’s not what you want when you’re counting on it to support you while you do something scandalous to make the audience shift in their seats.”

Every bit of his will was required to keep Mycroft from shifting where he _stood_ and raising questions that he would rather _not_ be raised at this point.  Or ever.

      “I see.  Again, I must disappoint you, for it is highly probable your flat is under surveillance.”

      “Hairy bollocks.  Call my agent and get copies delivered here?”

      “No, and for similar reason.”

      “What am I supposed to do, then?  Pass up work because I was hiding from some boogly woogly unknown something and now I can’t pay my bills?”

      “Your finances are that dire?”

Biting his tongue at the level of concern in his voice, Mycroft breathed a mental sigh of relief that his companion didn’t seem to find it out of place.  Or didn’t notice.

      “No, not really.  I’m not an idiot and take care to see my money’s managed properly, but… fuck.”

      “Gregory?”

      “Nothing.  Really, it’s just getting to me, that’s all.  This fucking night, I mean.”

No, that was not what was meant, but Mycroft decided to let matters rest for now.  His houseguest likely would not appreciate further intrusion into his affairs and there were far more critical issues to address at the present time.

      “Most understandable.  Again, I can only assure you that all possible measures will be taken to see this situation resolved quickly so that you may return to your normal routine.  I shall, however, see clothing delivered that is more to your size and taste, as well as your preferred brands of toiletries.”

      “That sounds disturbingly long-term, if I’m honest.”

      “Simply prudence and preparedness on the off-chance you are my guest for more than a day or two.”

The resigned nodding gave Mycroft a sense of relief, on one hand, as his houseguest seemed to be accepting the necessity of the situation.  On the other hand, he had somewhat hoped a bolt towards the door and the racing of a figure into the night would occur, so his own world might find some degree of righting.  Duty, though, was paramount and there was no doubting the direction in which it pointed.

      “Lucky me.  Got any scotch?”

      “Rather good scotch, actually.”

      “Have a glass of that ready, will you.  I need it.”

Witness my collegial smile as I, now, nod my agreement, Mr. Lestrange.  Witness further the grace of my movements as I usher you from the kitchen towards one of my guest rooms.  Pay no heed to the quivering blancmange that measure of poise is designed to camouflage and retain your impression of me as a man of elegance and control.  Someone unknowing of your… erotic capabilities and has enjoyed them in all their forms, many, many times… dear god, must remember to hide the _collection_ exceedingly well very, very soon…


	4. Chapter 4

      “I trust this will be adequate.”

Greg looked around the well-appointed room and had to admit that if he was to be a prisoner, this was the nicest cell he could have imagined.

      “It’s fine.”

      “Excellent.  And I do believe…

Mycroft walked into the room and opened both the wardrobe doors and the drawers of the antique dresser to check how well they were supplied with the clothing he kept on hand for unexpected visitors.  Though, those were generally of the political form and not Himeros himself walking the Earth.

      “… there is a selection of garments in the wardrobe and dresser, all clean, I assure you, and the standard sorts of supplies in the bath.”

      “Good, because I could use a shower for an hour or two.”

      “Do be my guest and I shall have your scotch waiting when you are finished and dressed.  Now, if you will excuse me, I do have certain matters to tend to…”

      “Like finding out who’s fucking trying to kill me?”

      “That might be on the list, yes.”

      “Then get on it.  I really… I just want to forget this ever happened and get back to my flat.”

      “I understand and sympathize completely.”

Keeping his attempt at a genial smile on his lips, Mycroft took his leave and hoped the slight thump his body made has he leaned back against the closed bedroom door wasn’t audible to his guest.  Must make a series of calls and issue a variety of instructions.  Must begin collating the incoming information and using his personal, unique talents to tease out any patterns contained therein.  Must not do what his brain was screaming at him to do.  Must not let his body’s sudden eruption of need turn him from his path.  Must not continue walking towards his own bedroom to turn on his television, selecting certain special functions through the remote to access the in-house surveillance system which covered every possible location and angle of his home.  Including all bedrooms and the baths they might contain.

__________

Do not.  Absolutely, under any circumstances.  It is wrong.  Unequivocally wrong.  The crassest of violations.  An unforgiveable intrusion.

Yet, Mycroft felt his finger tap in the code on the remote for the room in which he’d left Greg and felt, further, the slow threading of familiar pleasure through his veins as he watched his guest begin to remove his clothing.  The gorgeous, bespoke suit that fit his body perfectly and which he removed with terrific care and painful slowness to set aside with thoughtful precision, so it was not unduly wrinkled.  Each piece was shed just as tenderly as the last and his own suit felt stiflingly warm and ill-fitting as his body heated in a highly-familiar fashion.

Laying down on his bed, Mycroft set aside his remote and began the first steps of his traditional routine, relishing the alternating layers of pleasure and calm that flowed through his veins.  This time, though, the pleasure was sharper from the knowledge that this was not a film.  This was not scripted and directed.  This was his fantasy made real and the body that excited his lusts could be touched with the simple brush of fingers as he handed over a pen.

As Greg sloughed off the last of his clothing, Mycroft felt himself holding his breath until the deep-grey underpants fell to the floor and released that breath in a long, low moan.  Gregory’s form was perfect… his arse molded as if it was precisely designed for long-fingered hands to caress and what those long-fingered hands could do with the man’s thick, uncut cock… likely the same as Gregory’s thick fingers could do to his slimmer model, while his virile lover whispered the filthiest of words into his eager ear.

With trembling hands, Mycroft unfastened his trousers and touched the wet stain spreading on the front of his pants, the arousal in him making even his well-established ritual difficult to follow, with the fullness between his thighs starting to throb with a slow, measured beat and he had no ability to stop himself drawing down the front of those pants then, after a moment’s hesitation, losing all clothing below the waist so he could see the full evidence of his need and touch every finger’s width of the skin on his belly, upper thighs, heavy balls and the long length of his stiffened cock.  He never allowed himself this abandon.  Never _watched_ … not only the source of his desire but himself, as he ran hands across his body, desperately holding back taking his cock in his hands and bringing the release he craved.

But… 

With a savage snarl, Mycroft slammed his finger down on the remote and killed the video feed, leaving only the audio stream intact.  Despite the deafening scream in his mental ears to continue viewing the private performance, his soul could not bear the shame.  The disgraceful mark that threatened to bloom would destroy him utterly and it was humiliating enough that he could not douse the audio, so overpowering was the need for the small connection to push him forward to find any form of calm through relief.

Listening carefully, the sound of a hand testing the temperature of the water in the shower hit Mycroft’s ears and he finally allowed himself more direct stimulation, cupping and rubbing his tightening balls with his thumb, angling his fingers so he could firmly press against the area behind them, sending a rush of breath out between his lips from the sensation.  The rush turned quickly to a harsh groan hearing the shower door fully open as his fantasy entered the shower and, unquestionably, stretched sinuously under the wet heat raining from the showerhead.  The man was sin made human, though, the only one truly committing sin was lying in this bed, raising his hips to slowly thrust his cock within his closed fist.  The sin was surely not in Gregory’s hands on his own body, touching his skin to clean and soothe the night’s tensions.  It was normal, natural and that only increased the thrill.  This was how his most sordid dream treated himself, something only a lover would know.  How his hands trailed over his flesh, the way he tended his intimate areas… it would transcend anything presented in his films.

Mycroft used every bit of his will to extend his pleasure, enveloped in the sounds filling his ears and the images playing in his mind, until the water was turned off and the long, contented moan of a final, post-shower stretch crashed into Mycroft’s fantasy, which triggered an orgasm of such force that his voice cried out with a broken tone as his semen splashed over his belly and the expensive fabric of his fine shirt and jacket.  Shaking as he struggled to calm his breath, Mycroft’s eyes ran over his splayed body, debauched and shameful in presentation, and he fought back the choking feeling that was building in his throat, which clashed violently with the fingers of calm beginning to make their way through his recovering form.

It was only the sound of dresser drawers being opened that pulled Mycroft fully back to the here and now, remembering that his guest would be donning clothes, perhaps performing a few additional tasks and then expecting to be met by a man not wearing the evidence of sexual self-service on the remnants of his own bespoke suit.  This was… an abhorrent act, but… he could breathe again.  The unsettled, oppressive feeling that had gripped him was losing strength and he could feel both his body and mind better obeying commands.  As they always did in the aftermath.

Quickly swinging his legs off the bed, Mycroft, darted into his own ensuite bath, tossing his soiled shirt, jacket and… good lord… tie, onto the floor to be discarded and leapt into the shower, hoping to cleanse both his body and his conscience with the torrent of scalding water.  However, he knew very well that for only one of those would the water do its job…

__________

      “Hope you don’t mind.”

Mycroft smiled as he looked at Greg, in one of the comfortable armchairs in his sitting room, holding a glass of amber liquid, adorned in the most stunning gray trousers and burgundy pullover… and no shoes.  Well, at least the correlation between finger, toe and penis measurements was well and handily proved.  His guest was simply a font of interesting and alluring information…

      “Not at all.  I apologize most profusely for not having your drink prepared, however, my time ran short and my agenda was long.”

And, as well, for the indecency of my character, which shall haunt me with a cruelty I so richly deserve.

      “Got your own shower, too, it seems.  Good for you.  Helps with things, doesn’t it?”

      “That it does.”

And I do notice your appraising eye evaluating my wardrobe choices, which were certainly not made for frivolous reasons such as flattering colors or promoting a less-stilted perception of the most stilted man in existence.

      “What’d you learn about the hotel?”

      “The investigation is ongoing, I’m afraid.  However, we are pursuing certain lines of inquiry that I am confident will prove fruitful.”

      “You realize you said absolutely nothing at all just then, don’t you?”

Yes, and demonstrating your perspicacity, at this point, is entirely unfair.

      “Just tell me what you’ve learned, Mycroft.  Who the fuck would I tell?  That arsehole who’s missing a piece of his face took my mobile and I wouldn’t be surprised if the phones you have here are monitored, what with you being so minor in government service, so telling my grocer all your secrets will be found out fairly quickly.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the smugly-grinning Lestrange and used his own need for a stiff drink to postpone responding.

      “You’re stalling, Mr. Holmes.”

      “You are agitating, Mr. Lestrange.”

And your insistence will not bring you answers to your benefit.

      “Not the first time I’ve heard that.  And I don’t mean on a film set, either.”

Your grin is demonic.  There is no other word for it.

      “If I ask you politely to let the matter lie, will you agree to do so with a lack of fuss?”

      “Nope.”

      “If you were a married man, I believe you would have met your demise with the proverbial frying pan long before now.”

      “I _was_ married.  And, yes, a skillet did make an unhappy appearance a time or two.”

The glass froze on its way to Mycroft’s lips and nothing in his repertoire of skills enabled him not to stare at Greg.

      “You… I…”

      “Didn’t know I was married?  Thought you’d have a big file on me by now, what with the gunfire and murder and all.”

No, because that would ruin the mystique.  Which was suffering mightily at the moment...

      “As... as you were not the primary target, the initial inquiries did not begin with your personal background, however, given the change of circumstances, such information is being gathered and will be made available to me the instant it has been organized and verified.”

      “Makes sense, I suppose.  But, yeah, I was married.”

      “May I ask what was the gentleman’s name”

      “Not a bloke, my dear Mr. Holmes.”

      “You… you had a wife?”

      “Why would you think… no, strike that.  You did find me in that hotel to make a man happy, so I can see where you thought I was gay.”

The mass quantity of films in which I have seen you, perpetrating the most scorchingly erotic acts on other males, may also have played a role in forming my opinion.

      “You are not?”

      “If I’m attracted to someone, it doesn’t matter what’s in their trousers, though I’m exclusive to other men in my work.  I feel more comfortable with that, for some reason, and I can’t deny it’s been a successful decision.”

      “I see.  And I, also, can see where that would prove difficult for a marital relationship.”

When Greg’s wrath rose up, it only enhanced his beauty, which was a touchy situation for Mycroft, for he valued greatly the current shape of his nose.

      “What’s that mean?”

      “I… I assume you used the past tense, without a wistful or sorrowful tone to your voice, to reference a divorce as opposed to becoming a widower, and it is easily understandable why a wife might be aggrieved by your chosen profession.”

      “You’re saying my working in the industry would chase off a wife.”

      “It stands to reason, does it not.  I doubt many women, or men for that matter, would tolerate for long their spouse regularly enjoying intimacy with others.”

Oh no, don’t rise from your chair…

      “Let me tell you something, Mr. High and Mighty… we got divorced because she cheated on me!  More than once, so you can shove that in your folder for good measure!  I never cheated, not once, and before you even fucking say it, having a go with someone on the film set isn’t the same.  It’s not.  It’s work, just like anyone else’s work.  Maybe you don’t see that, most people don’t, but it’s simple, honest work that has long hours, a fucking huge amount of stress and she threw all those long hours and stress in my face when I caught her out with her latest diversion and, finally, said I was done.  Done putting up with her lies, done smelling the whiff of someone else’s cologne on her clothes when I did the laundry...  It’s my fault I didn’t end things sooner, but it _was_ me that finally did it, so stick that up your arse and see how it feels.”

Staring at the extended finger currently an inch from his face, Mycroft cleared his throat and carefully nodded, hopefully, to demonstrate understanding and defuse some of his guest’s anger.

      “I apologize, Gregory.  It was unfair of me and I _am_ sorry for my presumption.”

The slight hiss of breath made clear the lack of satisfaction with the apology, but it was good enough, apparently, to have Greg step back, scowl slightly and refill his drink instead of throwing a punch.

      “Think before you speak in the future.  My work’s different than yours but you’re not better or more righteous than me because of it.”

Thinking before speaking was normally Mycroft’s specialty, but every of his considerable skills was failing him miserably, it seemed…

      “I will not again make that mistake, I assure you.”

Taking his fresh glass of scotch back to his chair, Greg dropped into it and gave Mycroft a hard look before cocking his head and raising the glass as a flag of truce.

      “Then we don’t have a problem.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Now you can tell me what you learned about tonight and don’t fucking lie because I’ll spot them on you as easily as I did on my ex-wife.”

Mycroft grimaced and not only because he was absolutely convinced the blackguard _would_ know if he dissembled, even in the slightest.

      “The hotel security cameras were disabled for the duration of the attack, we have no information on the identities of either the in-room attackers or who fired at you outside the hotel, the various traffic and security cameras for other business in the area were disabled during the periods corresponding to the assailants leaving the scene and… we have not been able to reach by telephone your agent.  Individuals are en route to his flat, as we speak, but neither his mobile or the phones at his home or office have been answered.”

      “No…”

      “We have no further information at this time so… it is, perhaps, too early for concern.”

      “You don’t believe that.”

Most certainly skilled at detecting deception…

      “No, I do not.  However, it is inappropriate to draw conclusions from so little fact.”

Watching Greg lapse into a thoughtful silence, Mycroft used the moment to draw a few conclusions of his own.  The most pressing, at the moment, was that it was highly likely that he would have a houseguest for longer than he had predicted.  The second most pressing was why he had yet to order transport of said houseguest to a prepared safehouse so that his own life could somewhat return to normal.  About one thing, he was certain, however.  Scotch was likely to, very quickly, become his most bosom acquaintance and he could not find a single flaw with that predicted future…


	5. Chapter 5

Seeing his charge safely to bed, Mycroft put the remote for his telly in the room next to Greg’s so he’d have to pass the bedroom door on his way to retrieve it, should he sport another honor-defiling urge and, hopefully, and have his action stopped in its tracks through lethal crisis of conscience.  Not that he believed such a deplorable urge _would_ arise, however.  The bestial grip of his emotions had abated to a manageable degree, in no small part to the time spent after his shower coming to better know the man in his home.

The person sipping fine scotch in his sitting room was brash, but not sexually forward.  He was ferocious, but not for reason of lust.  There was a strong sense of self and a decided cockiness, but not the uninhibited swagger than characterized his performances.  Which is what they were.  Performances…

An actor performed.  Assumed a character and portrayed it convincingly.  And Gregory had been spectacularly convincing.  Oh, there was certainly a great deal of the man’s natural personality in his films, not to mention the totality of his physical self, however… the differences were becoming visible and the myth was dissolving.  Which is why he had never investigated _anything_ about Gerard Lestrange.  Had not wanted to rip off the mask, to preserve the illusion for as long as possible… keep his fantasy from ever becoming a real man.  Now, a _very_ real man was sleeping in one of his guest rooms and he had no firm idea about where that fact would lead.

Taking to his own bed a number of hours later, after a dedicated study of the latest body of information he’d seen delivered, Mycroft woke and realized that he most certainly needed to oversee certain matters in person today, which that meant leaving alone someone who might very likely use the opportunity to take flight and, potentially, work to make finding him again a rather difficult feat.  Taking stock of his mental faculties in preparation for the inevitable debate, Mycroft found them somewhat returned to standard, at least in terms of intellect, but… it would take seeing again the longstanding object of his desire to assess how long this would endure.

Quickly donning something appropriate for a potential encounter while he prepared his morning cup of tea, Mycroft then made his way downstairs and, upon hearing noise in the kitchen, inhaled a deep, cleansing breath before stepping across the threshold.  Only to have that breath rush out as if it was running from a house on fire.

      “You’re awake early!  Heard you moving about very late last night when I got up for a quick piss, so you couldn’t have seen much sleep.  Coffee?”

Why was Gregory in a dressing gown?  A nigh on diaphanous garment of deep blue silk that flowed over his… surely naked… form like water flowing over a statue of Adonis in the garden of a sacred temple.

      “I… I prefer tea.”

      “Doesn’t surprise me.  I’m all for it, mind you, but I need the caffeine too greatly to pay much attention to it.  Does that make me unpatriotic?  Fuck it, if it does.  Patriotism doesn’t keep me on my feet hour eleven into a fourteen-hour day.”

Adonis was feeling most chatty this morning, it seemed.

      “I do not believe there is a paragraph in any of the various legal documents describing the crime of treason that is explicit to the drinking of tea, but I shall check again if it puts your mind at ease.”

Do not become erect from the full-throated laughter at your feeble jest.  Especially do not allow your eyes to wander over Gregory’s form as his dressing gown moves and shifts in hopes of catching a flash of manly skin.

      “Good to know my taxes are used for good things like important library research.  Did… did my tax dollars also buy me more information about my situation.  I’d really like to know my agent Kevin is alright, so you can start with that bit.”

Dropping himself into a kitchen chair and keeping his eyes fixed on Mycroft, Greg grudgingly admired that his host wasn’t easily cowed and went so far as to start the kettle before answering.

      “Might I, instead, suggest a hearty breakfast?  I do believe I have the ingredients for a healthy diversity of morning-meal choices.”

      “Suggest away, but I’m still waiting for an answer.  I’ll accept breakfast, if you’re offering, but your mouth isn’t needed to shake a pan for a nice fry-up, so you can fill in the details for me while you cook.”

Utterly brazen, but a timid individual would never have survived in the sort of career in which Gregory thrived for these many years.

      “Will an omelet suffice?”

      “With enough toast behind it.  I can work on that part, I suppose, and get more coffee going.  _While you talk_.”

      “My, such a forceful tone.”

Which has a terribly unfortunate effect on my unmentionables, so kindly do not do it again.

      “Would you just let me know what you’ve learned and without any of that ridiculous government double-speak?”

      “In truth, I have precious little to add to my summary from last night.  There has been no further progress on the identity of the assailants and we have not discovered even a single piece of video evidence that could be examined for a clue as to a vehicle or accomplice that could pave a trail to follow.”

      “Kevin?”

      “He was not present at his flat when it was checked, however, there is surveillance on the property to alert us the moment he returns.”

      “ _If_ he returns.”

      “As you say.”

      “What are you doing to find him?”

      “What we can.  Locations pertinent to his daily routine and work have been investigated and there has been no information forthcoming about… anything.  Is there something you might add to enhance our search?  Something that might not be commonly known or present in his personal records?”

      “I have a few names you might talk to.  People he trusted to go to, maybe, if something spooked him.  His wife died six years ago from cancer, but he’s got two sons at Uni.  Did… did you talk to them, yet?”

Something that still struck Mycroft as odd.  A man who specialized in representing members of the adult entertainment industry with a wife and children?  One would preclude the other, to his mind.  However, Gregory had a wife, something he was content to forget for the time being, so a family life was certainly not a unique occurrence.  And the man’s sons, by all accounts, were stellar students, with one focusing on graphic design and the other on computer science.  A body would never have an inkling their father helped sell the tawdriest of entertainment to a select and discerning clientele…

      “Yes, though the purpose of the inquiries were not revealed.”

      “Good.  No use worrying them if he’s just gone dark for awhile.  I just… this is ridiculous.  We didn’t do anything wrong!  If something’s happened to him…”

      “Perhaps it is as you have stated.  Something gave him cause for concern and he is now in a safe location evaluating the circumstances.”

      “You don’t lie well, you know?  You really shouldn’t try.  I hope your job doesn’t need you to lie a lot or I suspect you won’t have it long.”

The singularity of that opinion could not be overstated, and would not be remarked upon in any form or fashion.  He was an _unparalleled_ dissembler… except, apparently, when faced with someone who had an uncanny, and unprecedented, ability to see behind the mental curtain to find the truth it concealed.

      “I pride myself on my veracity.”

Oh yes, do favor me with a disbelieving smirk to further drive home your point.

      “Well, let’s see if you pride yourself on your _cooking_.  I could murder something right about now.  I normally eat lightly before a job and I was so… off… last night that I didn’t think about throwing anything down my throat except scotch.”

Mycroft watched the barefooted, dressing-gown wearing man-god rummage through his cupboards to find bread, and keep rummaging before harrumphing loudly.

      “No beans?”

      “Thankfully, no.”

      “That’s definitely unpatriotic.  Guess I’ll have company when they put me in the stocks.”

      “I shall wear my treachery proudly.  If you require additional fortification, I can add cheese to your omelet and there is yoghurt in the refrigerator.”

      “Oh, I actually do like yoghurt.  And, yes!  Bananas in the fruit bowl!”

Again, Mycroft’s mind jarred sharply at the… normalcy… of his guest’s behavior.  Preparing a staggeringly ordinary breakfast, pouring coffee… moving through the kitchen with none of the sensual seductiveness that suffused his films with a particular erotic magic that defied any coherent description.  And was utterly irresistible.

      “I am pleased you are finding options to your liking.”

      “Be happier with some beans for my toast, but… ooh, you’ve got some of that granola, too.  That’ll be perfect with my yoghurt and bananas.”

How on Earth…

      “Want to tell me why you’re frowning at me, Mr. Holmes?”

Must remember Gregory is highly observant and quick to act on those observations as he sees fit.

      “It is nothing.”

      “Frowning is _never_ nothing.  Talk or both those omelets are mine.”

Well, since the door had swung open even wider…

      “I was simply ruminating on the rapidity of your metabolic rate.  You do not appear to be, shall we say, possessed of a hefty build, so I assume your meals are not normally quite this substantial.”

And I have rather an expert opinion on this subject, Mr. Lestrange, for I know every inch of your delightful frame and have watched it over the years fill from a youth’s leanness to a mature man’s solidity and all has been absolutely perfect.

      “HA!  Oh, I can lay waste to the largest plate you set in front of me, that’s for certain.  Put food in my way and it’s going to meet a very sad fate.  But, you’re right… if I didn’t take steps, I’d carry a lot of extra pounds.”

      “Steps?”

      “I run, when I can.  Play a bit of football.  Visit the gym on something like a regular schedule, too.  Just enough to keep my weight steady and hold on to what muscle I still have.  I was never one they hired for my muscle definition, so I don’t have it as rough as some of the lads, but I do have to keep an eye on things.  Also, I don’t want to be one of those middle-aged gents who wheezes when they have to climb a flight of stairs!”

The thought of Gregory’s body flexing as he exercised, with all appropriate grunts and groans… as well as the fine sheen of glistening perspiration on his exercise-flushed skin… was a mental image that Mycroft filed away for further reflection.  And… dare he?

      “I see.  If you wish, after breakfast, I shall show you my small selection of fitness equipment.  You are free to make use of it at your leisure.”

      “You have a home gym?”

      “Exercise is, at times, an acceptable method for alleviating the stress of the day.”

And keeping my own middle-aged form free from the dastardly effects of chocolate, pastries, luscious pastas and a host of other temptations that have me forever enslaved.

      “Keeps you slim, too.  Not much fat on you, is there?”

It was only through tremendous good fortune that Mycroft had plated their omelets and deposited the plates on the kitchen table or there would either be shards of egg and porcelain on the floor or flaming eggs on the stovetop.  Gregory… believed him lean.  And commented upon it!  Must sit before knees buckle…

      “Th… thank you, Gregory.  I do try to maintain a trim profile.”

      “You’re succeeding.  And, if you truly don’t mind, I’ll certainly accept your offer for a bit of exercise.  I really appreciate this, Mycroft.  I was wondering what I was going to do today and, now, I have an idea for part of it.”

And another door swings wide into another topic of conversation.

      “Excellent.  Though… I will have to tend to certain matters today and do so in person, so I shall have to leave here for some time today...”

Look at you pondering the possibilities that exposes, Gregory.  I am quickly learning _your_ personal expressions and body language, your _true_ expressions and body language, and know very well what thoughts are racing through your mind.

      “… I would impress upon you the seriousness of your circumstances and, without knowledge of the particulars behind it, you would be well-cautioned to remain here and not venture into the city where you might be observed and recognized.”

      “Nobody recognizes me on the street.  Most men don’t spend a great deal of time watching my face, if you know what I mean.”

I recognized you, Gerard Lestrange, and I have no doubt that I am not alone in possessing that ability.

      “Your own statement that you were asked for by name for your work last night proves your words incorrect.  So, you will remain here and that is the end of that.”

      “Hey!  I can go where I like!”

      “True, but one’s likes are not always what is good for one.”

That rude noise shall earn you nothing but my most disapproving glared, though… no, I cannot disapprove of your petulance, for you wear it as adorably as any sweets-deprived toddler.

      “You sound like a headmaster at a poncy public school.”

      “Churlishness will not have me change my mind.”

Nor will your thunderous scowling, for I would rather, and not only for my personal entertainment reasons, see you remain safe and well.

      “Bollocks.  How about a quick run through your neighborhood?  I’ll wear sunglasses and a hat so I’ll be in disguise.”

      “Also ill-advised, I’m afraid, however, I do have a most respectable treadmill that should suit your purposes.”

      “Got a telly in there?”

      “I do, actually.”

      “That’s something, at least.  Put on something ridiculous to pass the time while I run a few miles.  I suppose it could be worse.”

      “There is little doubt of that.  The house is also provided with a, if I might be so bold, more than adequate sound system and I will demonstrate its function before I depart, so you might enjoy some music if it takes your fancy.”

      “Shoes?”

      “Pardon?”

      “Running shoes?  I’d rather not run barefooted.”

Yes, I see your devilish toes wiggling at me from the end of your lifted foot, villain.

      “I do believe there is a selection of casual shoes in your bedroom, however, we shall determine their suitability and, if necessary, I shall have delivered something more acceptable.”

      “Lawks!  What if the delivery man recognizes me?”

You may have an exquisite face and form or a clever and insightful mind, Gregory, but not both.  It is simply not allowed.

      “I shall issue instructions that the package be left in on the doorstep.”

      “You have all the answers, don’t you, evil bastard that you are.”

      “It is a benefit to my evilness that I possess some degree of omniscience.”

Toe wiggles and, now, once again, your rough and throaty laughter… you should be made illegal, such are the things you do to me.  It is not a certain thing the nation will continue to stand if you are in my household for any extended period of time…

      “I suppose it would be.  I surrender!  I’ll stay here and rot like a fish in the summer sun and not be a regular person who can take a stroll and enjoy a bit of fresh air.”

      “You have my heartfelt gratitude.  And…”

Should he?  Might Gregory question?  Well, even if he did, there was no need for a confession that this was a rather compelling reason it was most difficult to find any sleep last night…

      “… I may have another avenue for you to pursue to productively fill your day.”

      “Oh?  What?”

      “I had included with the additional information I was provided last evening… I instructed a small search be made of your agent’s office with an eye towards the current projects on which you were slated to be working.  The scripts you hoped to retrieve I can pass along to you.”

      “Really?  Oh, that’s fantastic!  I know people probably don’t think my sort of films even have a script, but they do and I need to know my lines, as well as what the action is going to be, before we start filming.  This is brilliant, it really is…”

Not as brilliant, however, as _reading_ those scripts, imagining you performing the various ‘action’ sequences… fortunately the orgasm that accompanied the reading was not as… forceful… as the last and the pages were spared any semen-related sullying.

      “… and so is this omelet!  You make a very tasty breakfast, Mycroft.”

More compliments?  Unprecedented events were apparently going to be the norm with Gregory on the premises.

      “I am happy you approve.  I cannot guarantee the time of my return, but the kitchen is at your disposal for whatever you would like to prepare.”

      “Sounds good.  As was this… absolutely was what I needed.  Want to show me your equipment now?”

The knowledge that your comment is entirely innocent does not negate its impact on my libido, fiend.

      “I would be honored.”

And how fortunate it is that walking ahead of you allows me no ability to visually linger on the sight of your sculpted bottom being gently caressed by the finest of silk.  _Thinking_ about it is sufficiently inflaming.  Yes, perhaps, it is a very good day to spend at work and away from home.  Home is far too dangerous, though not for the reasons any sane person would ever suspect.

      “I’ll clean the kitchen, then watch a little of the news so I don’t run on a full stomach.  Show me where my scripts are, too, so I can start working with them after I exercise.  Run through some of the scenes while my body’s still warmed up and limber.”

Danger… there was no other word for it.  Any greater a measure and it would be death by lust and, really, how would that look on a death certificate…


	6. Chapter 6

The house was standing.  There were lights in the windows.  This could be taken as a heartening sight for someone who might, just might, have worried that those were things that would _not_ greet him when returning after a long day of work.

Hesitating only a moment to muster his fortitude, Mycroft unlocked his door and made his way inside, listening very closely for any worrying sounds and found only the muffled strains of music coming from the kitchen, as well as a roughened voice singing along with the lyrics.  His guest was still present.  The contrasting good and bad of that could not be exaggerated.

      “Mycroft!  Not as late as I expected, so I’m happy I started cooking so you’ll have a fresh, hot meal instead of a reheated wonder from my happy little hands.”

Little?  Meaty.  Ample.  Thick and vigorous.  Those would have his agreement, but little?  Certainly not.  Happy could be considered negotiable…

      “I have no doubt this shall prove a most delightful experience.  I will admit to a notable hunger, as well, as lunch was what seems a geological era ago and there was little time to pause subsequently for even the smallest refreshment.”

      “Aren’t days like that true shite?  You don’t have a moment to spare to toss a bag of crisps down your throat and just hope that, in my case, at least, your stomach doesn’t start protesting too loudly and spoil a scene.”

Casual, affable conversation upon returning home?  What a novel experience this was.

      “I can attest to a similar worry, at times, though my gastric symphony would serve only to interrupt some tedious meeting and that might, in actuality, enliven the proceedings in a highly agreeable fashion.”

Oh yes, Gregory, do laugh at my limp and wilted attempts at wit, for there is little on Earth as joyful-sounding.  Except…

      “And, did I hear you singing when I arrived?”

      “You heard that, did you?  Poor bastard.  Are your ears bleeding?”

      “Quite the contrary.  You provided a very competent accompaniment to the music.”

NO!  You are not permitted to shyly smile at me, Gregory Lestrange.  Under no circumstances.  That… that is not a smile I have _ever_ noted in your films and… it is the most glorious one I have ever seen you make.

      “That’s kind of you to say, though I don’t believe a word of it.  I… I do like a bit of singing, now and again.  I can play guitar, too, though not as well as I would like.  Not enough time to practice to actually be very good at it, but… yeah, I like music.”

Gregory was musical… oh dear.  That was information he certainly did not need to know for the thought of a quiet evening with some small amount of music, personally provided, was far too warm and cozy for his mental health and safety.

      “A man of plentiful and diverse talents, it seems, for, I must confess, whatever you are preparing smells most delicious.”

      “Bit of chicken, some veg… pot of rice.  Simple, but you’ve got a very respectable supply of spices and whatnot to make it lovely.  Why don’t you get out of that suit and into whatever you spend your evenings in and I’ll see this finished.  Think you’ve got some wine that would go with this?”

A cellar of such wines and one, especially, springs to mind.

      “That can easily be arranged.  If you would give me a moment.”

Making ‘be off with you’ gestures is certainly cheeky, Gregory, but I shall forgive you since… well, the reasons are legion, in point of fact.  Not the least of which is that, as you turn back to your cooking, I have a very clear view of your body as it sways and dances to the music.  No man should move so sinuously to a simple radio broadcast, but you do make it look effortless.  And gorgeously sensual…

__________

Mycroft chose what he hoped was unassuming clothing, found the bottle of wine he had chosen for their meal and took what seemed like his thousandth deep breath since Greg had arrived.  Was it possible to hyperventilate from steeling one’s nerves?  Well, he would soon be the acknowledged expert on the subject…

      “Wine!  Oh, that’s brilliant.  I hoped you’d find something.  I’m ready for it, too, let me tell you.”

Mycroft set the wine on the table and retrieved the corkscrew from a drawer, filling the glasses on the already-set table once he’d opened the bottle.  No mention would be made that Gregory knew how to properly set a table and did a highly commendable job of it, along with a most appropriate arrangement of bread in the breadbasket.  This was entirely too domestically-talented for his mind to process at the moment…

      “Was your day that onerous?”

      “Ha!  The opposite, actually, but I certainly used my fair share of the body’s energy.  I think I fell in love with your exercise room.  I admit that I prefer to run outdoors, but going to a gym isn’t always… well, I don’t have the time to go there as often as I’d like and, once I _am_ there, it’s a wait for machines or I start a conversation with someone and, before I know it, half an hour’s passed me by and I’m not wrung a drop of sweat out of myself!  This is a much better solution and I took full advantage of it, though I could be calling myself an idiot tomorrow when my muscles start to call me very rude names.”

And the image of you stretching out your stiff, abused muscles is almost as delicious as…

      “Oh my, that looks expertly prepared.”

Greg set down the serving dishes of his small feast and motioned Mycroft to start serving himself.

      “Thanks!  It’s fun to make food that feeds more senses than taste.  I like putting together a meal with a little more style than slinging it on a plate, but, I admit, I don’t do more than that when I’m only cooking for myself.  And…”

Mycroft paused spooning rice onto his plate and waited for the follow-up to the rather telling pause.

      “… maybe I was hoping this could be a little thank you for… well, for everything.  I know I was a bit rough when we first met and I can’t say that’s not the real me, because it is, but… you’ve been helpful and welcoming and made all of this a hell of a lot easier than it could have been.  So… yeah, thanks.”

Hoping his eyes were not wide in surprise, Mycroft quickly rallied to reply in something other than tremulous and adolescent tones.

      “I… you are most welcome, Gregory.  It is my honor and privilege to offer my hospitality and I am only sorry…”

For violating your privacy and for visiting unto you an endless stream of impure thoughts.

      “… that said hospitality had to arise from such distressing circumstances.”

      “That part’s balls, I admit, but… who knows?  Maybe we would have crossed paths at some point and you still could have learned just what an incredible person I am without any bullets involved whatsoever.”

Your impish grin is staggeringly unfair given I have known you for decades and cannot give any indication of that fact.  Or how _utterly_ incredible I have found you through all those many years.

      “Good things _do_ happen, so it is certainly possible we may have seen just that occur to brighten our hypothetical day.”

And how happy you appear at the thought.  That… that is peculiar.  Those appearing gladdened at the thought of time with Mr. Mycroft Holmes are generally fabricating that response or are in such dire straits that the devil himself would be greeted gladly if he could solve the problem by which they have found themselves entangled.

      “Then, there you have it.  How’s the food, by the way?”

As if the difficulty he was having eating at a sedate and polite pace was not its own evidence.

      “Exceedingly agreeable.  That this was prepared wholly with the rather uninspired contents of my cupboards, is something I find truly astounding.  The flavors are perfectly balanced and I am having difficulty contemplating the moment my plate has been emptied.”

NO!  A hundred thousand times no.  Do you not remember my previous unspoken admonition concerning shy smiles?  Kindly do not forget a second time.  The mental chastisement shall be terribly ferocious.

      “Whew!  That’s a relief.  I was hoping this wasn’t a case of something looking good and that being the only thing that recommends it.”

A condition Mycroft already had been pondering, rather extensively, about Greg himself… it was not unknown for a person as physically beguiling as his houseguest to have that as their only positive attribute.  To be vain, arrogant, self-absorbed, intellectually lackluster… that was surely _not_ the case here.  That his films allowed for little demonstration of his other qualities was rather puzzling because… Gregory Lestrange had a great deal more to offer the world than his body.

His cooking, for example.  My, but this was scrumptious…

__________

After dinner and something that puzzled Mycroft to no end – a pleasant and shared washing of the dishes – the two men moved to the sitting room to enjoy another glass of scotch and a little conversation.

      “This is something else I envy you for, Mycroft.  This room defines comfort, doesn’t it?”

      “I confess that I had it designed for just that purpose.  Too often I endure very long work hours and a small amount of time relaxing in a comfortable fashion is a balm to my weary soul.”

      “Well, it’s been a dream for me.  Stretched out on the sofa, shoes off, I promise, and read through my scripts, while listening to a bit of music.  Just fantastic really.”

One should never gulp good scotch, but gulping masked… gulping… and, for that, Mycroft was willing to commit the sacrilege.

      “Oh… well… I am content the setting was a successful one for you.”

      “It was.  Too bad I didn’t have anyone else here to work on a few things, but… well, you know how impossible that is right now.”

      “Th… things?”

      “It’s helpful, when I can, to block out a few scenes before we start filming.  Make certain this knee or that arm isn’t blocking the camera, checking how shadows are going to fall if the light’s here or there… the more I can anticipate, the less time we need actually fathoming out those things on the set, which makes the day shorter.”

      “Oh, yes… I quite understand.  I… if I had been here I would gladly have offered my assistance, though, it would be rather useless given my lack of understanding of your craft.”

And, now, I have another scenario to play through in my mind after I take to my bed.  You truly are incorrigible, Gregory.

      “Really?  Because, I could use a little help for one issue and you don’t need to do anything more than sit, which, as I can see, you’re something of an expert at already.”

Oh dear… making mental note NEVER to affect helpfulness again in this life.

      “I… I am certain I could not…”

      “Yes, you could.  Just move over to this chair, if you will.  It’s the one I need.”

      “N… need?”

      “Yeah, come here.”

Mycroft threw the remainder of his scotch down his throat and debated fleeing for the door, citing imminent coma due to alcohol poisoning, but remembered that Greg wasn’t stupid and a medical team being called to investigate would likely not see the humor in his flagrant and cowardly lie.

Rising slowly, Mycroft moved to sit in the wingback chair Greg had indicated and tried not to look as awkward and hesitant as he felt.

      “Perfect.  The set’s supposed to look like a posh barrister’s office and this is the sort of chair they’re sure to put in.  Now, let’s see…”

Trying not to tremble when Greg knelt down in front of him and placed his hands on the not-trembling knees, Mycroft found himself completely incapable of protesting when Greg pushed those knees apart due to his heart being securely lodged in his throat.

      “Good, now let me wriggle in here a bit and… lift up your foot for me, will you?  Right up to hip-height or a little lower is fine.”

Obeying more out of transfixion than conscious intent, up went Mycroft’s foot and he stayed speechless as Greg moved his foot up and down, hmming and umming with grave seriousness.

      “Thought so.  See?  This is why I like to do this ahead of time.  I’m doing this film with Ronnie and he’s a tall bloke, like you.  Legs as long as the Nile and what’s supposed to be happening is that’s he’s sitting in the chair while I suck his cock and he’s giving mine a rub with his foot, got the shaft between his toes and rubbing my bollocks with his heel, something like that and I _knew_ it’d look idiotic.  Knees up to my ears!  He’ll look ridiculous and nobody wants to watch something ridiculous when they’re looking to get hard.  Just daft… we’ll have to reconfigure all of that so it doesn’t… oh shite…”

Greg’s eyes went large at the sound of Mycroft’s shakily indrawn breath and it occurred to him exactly what he was doing to a very unsuspecting member of the public.

      “Christ, Mycroft… I’m so sorry.  Really, I’m… I forget that this isn’t… it’s just a job for me, you know.  Acting like any performer and… this is incredibly inappropriate and I am so very sorry.  I just forgot and… you want to punch me or something?  I wouldn’t complain, not one bit.  Let me… closing your legs and reminding myself that normal people don’t particularly expect a bloke wedging himself in there when they’re expecting to… well, do anything in this world that could be termed decent.”

Smiling as apologetically as he could, Greg hopped up onto his feet and, thought a moment before deciding that refilling their glasses was the best possible idea at the moment.

      “Here you go… forgive me?”

Forgive?  That… that was a question of _unimaginable_ complexity.  However, in truth, there was nothing to forgive… especially owing to his own behavior last night.

      “I… of course.  As you say, such a thing, to you, is perfectly innocent and normal for your line of work and it is very easy to lose sight that others might come to the circumstances from a different frame of mind, a situation no different than a doctor who might begin describing a gruesome accident case without realizing that his audience is not, first and foremost, interested in the academic merit of the discussion.”

My, that was a lot of words to cover the time necessary to bring his blood pressure under control.  Not that he succeeded fully, but the threat of stroke had downgraded from red to orange level and that was a degree of progress he would not disparage.

      “Thanks.  Really, I _am_ sorry and I’ll do my best to think now and again and not just barrel forward when an idea crosses my mind.”

      “I have… no concern about your future conduct, Gregory, so let us put the incident out of our minds and continue with the enjoyment of our evening.  Do tell me from where you learned the recipe that you prepared for our meal?  Did you, perhaps, create it yourself?”

Happy for the change of topic, Greg jumped back to his own chair and stretched out his legs to settle into their conversation.  That was the dumbest thing he’d done in a punishingly long time and his history for doing dumb things was a very lengthy and colorful one.  But, it had solved one mystery, or maybe more accurately, answered one question.  That growing bulge he’d seen in Mycroft’s trousers said Mr. Holmes had a taste for men and his stupid cock-up had a slightly different dimension than if he’d been that thoughtless with another man.  Not that he’d ever shove his face in someone’s crotch without permission, but if, one day, after a nice meal and a scotch or two, permission _was_ given...

Well, no thinking about that now.  There were lots more important things going on and scratching an itch wasn’t nearly among them.  Mycroft moved like a cat, though and… that did pave the way for some excitingly sexy things between two people who both had itches in need of scratching, even if they only happened in a stray daydream or two…


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft enjoyed a good meal, so a good meal he would have.  Bugger was awake half the night again, not that he was spying, of course, but a man had to piss!  Especially at this age.  And it was somewhat of a habit to have as much awareness of his surroundings as possible, along with their comings and goings, so cracking his bedroom door to take in the sounds in the house wasn’t exactly strange.  Didn’t get to survive this long in his business without being _very_ aware, because there were a lot of people with a nefarious turn of mind lurking in the shadows and you had to be ready for those bastards.  He’d seen too many, far too many, suffer an ill fate because they didn’t keep in mind that the world wasn’t exactly stacked to help you and… well, fighting tooth and nail, being smart about choosing friends, thinking a few steps ahead all the time… that was the way to win the game.  So, no… it wasn’t spying.  It was simply strategic planning.

And his planning told him Mycroft worked too fucking hard, but he couldn’t hold that against the man, because that described him, too.  Wasn’t a minor government official, either.  That was a pitiful lie, but they both knew that, so he could tease as much as he liked.  You couldn’t be minor anything and own a house like this.  Yeah, it could be family money, but families with money didn’t let their kids be minor for _any_ reason.  And that tone in Mycroft’s voice when he talked to the lackeys… that was the tone of a man who knew he held the world’s balls in his hand and the world knew he had the power to squeeze whenever he wanted.

So Mr. Mighty was a very pretty puzzle, but there was nothing wrong with that.  Just added more interest to an already interesting package.  He knew how to dress, that much was certain.  God, did Mycroft dress wonderfully.  Even his casual clothes were elegant and suited him perfectly.  Just like his voice.  That was a voice… if the bloke made the types of films _he_ did that voice would get him hired on the spot because it was fuck-all sexy.  Sort of like the rest of him.  One large sex lolly, ready for good long lick.  Not that _he_ could do anything about it because men like Mycroft certainly didn’t get involved with the likes of someone like him, but… that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a bit of time together.  Share a few good meals and quiet evenings, since he COULDN’T FUCKING LEAVE!  Making the best of it… that was one of his greatest strengths and there was no reason not to do that now.

      “Oh my… Gregory, am I to be treated to another of your sumptuous feasts?”

Speak of the devil… or think of the devil… and he shall appear.

      “I’m normally an early riser, so I thought I’d use the time for something useful.  And sumptuous is right along the lines of my thinking, too.  Or, at least, food that will give you a hearty start to your day, which is, sometimes, the only thing that keeps you going when the day’s turned traitor on you and is being a bastard out of spite.  I… you’re going off to your minor government job again today, I presume.”

I heard the taunt in your voice, Gregory Lestrange.  Do not think for a moment it passed me by.

      “That I am.”

      “Good, then you can get your arse moving on what happened at the hotel and where the fuck is my agent.”

      “There are, as you say, a plethora of arses on those particular questions, so rest assured…”

      “That implies yours isn’t.”

      “Does it?”

      “Yeah and you’ve got that look on your face that says I caught you off guard and you’re trying to think of something to cover for the fact that your fingers aren’t actually raking through the muck to fathom this the fuck out.  Want to tell me why?”

Blackguard.  Kindly keep your cleverness to yourself and focus on preparing my breakfast.  It is very difficult to ask or answer uncomfortable questions when the mouth is well-provided with food.

      “I am most certainly involved in the investigation, however the number of avenues that require pursuing and reams of information to be reviewed are far too numerous for a single person to manage.”

      “You’re supervising, is what you’re saying.  And start cutting tomatoes.”

      “Precisely.  And I do not believe I have any.”

      “I’ve never really known many situations where a ‘supervisor’ helped with things very much.  Made matters worse or harder a lot of the time.  And, yes, you do.  Plenty for both of us.”

Greg used his spatula to motion towards the bowl on the counter with a ‘get going’ gesture that drew the smallest of smiles out of his target, who started the serious task of tomato inspection before responding.

      “I will not deny that may be the case, however, it rather depends on the competence of the supervisor, would you agree?  Ah yes, I had forgotten about these.  I must say, they look… and smell… quite flavorful, as well.”

      “I would agree.  For both of those things.  So, you competent?”

      “Very.”

      “How very?”

      “Exceedingly very.”

And in a variety of areas.  Note the profound level of skill I exhibit as I slice these rather appealing tomatoes for our meal.  A veritable jack of all trades, which is not, for work matters, at least, an exaggeration, though I am master of _all_ , unlike the standard end of that platitude.

      “And you’ll let me know the moment you find Kevin?”

      “Would you like for me to establish a telephone code so that I might call and you know immediately I am the caller?  Two rings.  Terminate and wait three seconds.  Three rings.  Terminate three seconds.  Call a final time to speak?”

      “You watch too many spy films.”

      “Then you will have to wait until I return home to receive any news.”

      “Bring my mobile back with you, why don’t you?  That way you can call me directly.  I’ll even program you in so your name’s splashed on the screen when you phone.”

      “As soon as the technicians have completed their analysis, it will be returned to you.”

      “What’s there to analyze about my mobile!”

      “Tracking software or circuitry, remote access to the camera… a number of things actually.”

      “Oh.  Yeah, that makes sense.”

      “However… if it would soothe your separation anxiety, I could provide you with another.  Like the phones in this house, it would not be traceable, however, I would still ask that you not make contact with anyone until we are on firmer ground with the situation that brought you here.”

Do not pout, Gregory.  It is a look you wear entirely too well.

      “Fine.  I’ll just phone you all day and make sure you’re actually doing something more useful than holding your desk chair onto the floor with your body weight.  Start your tea.”

      “Such a harsh taskmaster, but, since I could use a bracing cup, I will obediently comply.  And, for your information I have a very full agenda and it is unlikely I shall see my desk for more than the time required to snatch away a folder or search for a fresh pen.”

      “You use a fountain pen, different one at home and at work, too, so don’t pretend you’re a normal biro man.”

Mycroft was actually happy he’d set down his knife because the sharpness of his startle would definitely have endangered his fingers.

      “How on Earth…”

      “One, you’re just not the type.  Second, I saw a drop of ink on your pocket last night when you took off your jacket.  Need one of those pocket protectors like the sciency kids use to keep your laundry safe?  Anyway, it was a slightly different color ink than what I saw before you left yesterday when you checked over those notes for the information I gave you about Kevin.  Those were _definitely_ written by a fountain pen, too much variation in the writing for a biro, so one pen at home and one at work.”

Return to pouting, Gregory Lestrange, for your smug satisfaction is also breathtaking, but threaded through with specks of nearly-sexual confidence that is not assisting me, in the least, with my tea preparation.  But, thank you for reminding me to have my office pen delivered for repair.  It truly did not survive well the incident with… a certain ambassador.  Visigoth… no appreciation for fine writing utensils…

      “You are most observant, Gregory.”

      “Yeah, I am.  And I make what conclusions I can from those observations.  Doesn’t always work and I roll along the wrong path for awhile, but… I get back on the right one more often than not.”

Again, proving, that you are not a man to underestimate.  And you make a more than honorable showing in the kitchen…

      “Look at you sniffing the air and smiling, Mr. Holmes… that’s a compliment I greatly appreciate.”

      “I must admit that my mornings are generally greeted with something bakery-purchased and a bit of fruit, so this is a notable treat.  Two robust breaks of fast in two days… dear me, I’d better set aside time to make use of the treadmill myself.”

Taking the filled plate he was handed, Mycroft moved it to the table, returning for his tea and, with a nod towards hospitality, poured fresh coffee for his guest.

      “Thanks!  Well, you can fight me for it.  With a kitchen and supplies like this at my disposal, I’m certain to make full use of it and that’s not the kindest for my waistline, either.  Luckily, a good cameraman can help hide any… crap!”

      “I… what?”

      “Forgot about a photo shoot I was supposed to do tomorrow.  I don’t suppose…”

      “Need I even answer?”

For if I try, it will certainly dissolve into a watery mass of random syllables as my mind imagines your naked beauty presented in any number of poses for the camera.

      “No… could you… look, I _am_ a professional, no matter what you think of the work I do and it’s bad form to simply not show up for a job.  Could you have someone phone to reschedule?  Or… shite, I guess I don’t know when I _could_ reschedule, but…”

      “If you provide the necessary contact information, I will see they are informed you are ill and unable to make your appointment.  Rescheduling will need to be handled through your agent.”

      “Who they won’t be able to reach.”

      “It is, as they say, better than nothing.”

      “Wasn’t complaining because, actually, it’s a good idea.  I appreciate that, I really do.  My reputation in the industry is a good one… I work hard, don’t complain without reason, help out where I can even if I’m not in front of the camera, show up on time and don’t whinge to leave early…  I’m dependable, you know?  And that’s translated into a lot of work others don’t get because they can’t be counted on.  I don’t want that to change, you know?”

      “I understand completely and I will see everything possible is done to maintain your work reputation.  It _is_ my hope, Gregory, that this matter soon will be sorted and you might return to your regular life.”

Though… it is becoming somewhat harder to imagine you leaving than it was when you first arrived.  One grows accustomed to things, perhaps…

      “Not too soon, thought, right?  Might as well take advantage of me while you’ve got the chance…”

You blackhearted incubus!

      “… cooking, conversation… I may even do some tidying today!  Who wouldn’t want to get their fill of that.”

Yes, Mycroft… I caught the filthy direction your thoughts turned towards and barreled down like a runaway lorry.  I admit, though, anybody’s would have, but I am _very_ much beginning to enjoy the flash in your eyes when something lustful pops into your head.  Don’t hate me too much for having a little fun, alright?  It’s my only chance to have a bit of a tease with a man like you and it’d be criminal for me to pass it by without enjoying it to the fullest.

      “M…my heavens, how domestic.  Might you require an apron?”

You are the most vacant-headed man in the world!  Gregory’s nakedness covered only by a small apron, which would frame magnificently his muscular buttocks when viewed from the back… it was entirely too stimulating to contemplate so, of course, he was now contemplating it most vigorously.  Damn his formidable mind and highly vivid imagination!

      “That would be a sight, wouldn’t it!  Me capering about in a frilly apron.  Man come to the door to give me some pamphlet from the local save-the-greenspaces group would get some very interesting ideas about _this_ household.  In fact…”

No… please, do not…

      “… I did a film just like that!  Fuck me, but that had to be…”

Seventeen years ago.

      “… nearly twenty years ago.  I looked young for my age and it was easy to play the randy houseboy to some bloke… shite, the same age I am now!  No, wait… I think, old Dave was only about 45 then.  Still see him now and then, can you believe it!  Anyway, I was the tarty little thing prancing about naked as a cherub with a little apron and some gent comes to the door for some cause or another and we start having a go, that turns into a three-way when Dave’s character comes home from work.  I haven’t thought about that film in a _long_ time.  But, I’ve made so fucking many, it’s hard to remember any single one with a lot of detail, though a few stand out for this reason or that.  Ha!  There we go… I’ll be your lusty middle-aged houseboy, with the dodgy knee, prancing about in an apron.  Need a bigger one than I had then, though, because I weighed about two stone at the time.  Skinny bastard I was when I was a lad…”

Slender, Gregory… slender and lithe.  Stars in the sky… that film was… captivating.  The honest need in your voice as you were pleasured by the attentions of the two other men remains with me to this day.  Listening to you moan as one thick cock slid into your arse, followed by a second breathy cry, which was only silenced when another weighty cock slipped into your mouth…

      “Mycroft?  You ok?  Looking a little… off.”

      “What?  Oh, do pardon me.  I was actually reflecting on the longevity of your career.  Twenty years, you say?  That is laudable for any profession, let alone one that has such a physically-demanding nature.”

Never let it be said that Mycroft Holmes could not rally when rallying was required.  If his brain completely shut down one mournful day, his mouth could likely continue dispensing various paragraphs of dialogue, which his various subordinates would duly scribe and deliver to the necessary departments for immediate action.

      “Not even twenty.  Try thirty!  More, actually, though not all of that in films at the start.  Some modeling… pose for some dirty pictures and earn a few quid.  Dancing, too… had no fucking clue how to do it, but it looked fun and the lads I worked with were happy to show me how to put a routine together, entice a few extra notes from the customers, or handle those same customers if they forgot that I belonged to _me_ and not to them.  I did well for myself, what with not much to speak of for formal education.  Did what I do now… work hard, be dependable, kept my wits about me… my bits and pieces have been on display for most of my life and I’ve made a good living off of them.  An honest living… one I’m proud of.”

Something that shined so brightly in Greg’s eyes that Mycroft found himself understanding a bit better the man in his kitchen.  Gregory _was_ a professional and one who took a great deal of pride in his work, no matter the… use… to which it was put by those who consumed the films and photos.  It was a mark of character and it was only now he was realizing that his Gregory Lestrange had _always_ been that person, though it was not something for which one spared a thought when one was enjoying the sexual ecstasy he inspired…

      “And you have every right to be.  There are not many with that degree of work ethic, let alone _sustained_ work ethic, and commitment to their craft.  I… I admit that I know little about your type of work, however, it stands to reason it should be approached with nothing less than diligence and seriousness.”

      “And you’d be correct.  If you want to stay employed for very long, that is.  Lots of people think it’s easy, that you don’t have to take it seriously, and they don’t last.  More will try, though… always new faces… new, young faces…”

There was a wistfulness in Greg’s voice that caught Mycroft’s attention and it fit into a question that had nestled in his brain waiting to be explored.

      “Gregory… is it… is it becoming difficult for you to find work?”

      “What?  No… I see where you might have gotten that impression, though.  The sort of work I’m doing has changed a bit, in some ways.  Less dancing, like I said before, and the sorts of roles I’m offered aren’t the same, but that makes sense.  You can’t play a cocky delivery boy when you’ve got this color hair!  But, that’s not an issue, in the big picture.  Plenty of blokes my age and older still in the business.  Not as many as the younger men, but there’s still enough work to go around to keep everyone busy.”

Mycroft sipped his cooling tea, then rose to start the kettle going again and pour another cup of coffee for Greg before digging deeper.

      “If I might say so… you seem somewhat melancholy about the issue.”

      “Do I?  I… yeah, I suppose I am.  It’s… I’m getting tired, is the truth of it.  I’ve been working hard, _very_ hard, for over 3 decades! Its… it might be time.”

Mycroft’s blood ran cold and he hoped his face wasn’t frozen in a rictus of terror.

      “You are retiring.”

      “Not today!  But, yeah, I’m starting to think about it and plan accordingly.  Make certain I don’t pass up well-paying work and keep checking that my investments are working to make my old age a pleasant one.  Five years, maybe?  Or a little longer… I’m just… I want to wake up in the morning and have this…”

Greg waved his arms around and indicated the coziness of the kitchen and the people in it.

      “… be more the norm than the exception for me.  Sleep when I want, wake when I want… _do_ what I want.  Do you know, I’ve never really traveled?  Had to go various places for a film, but those were quick trips and I never saw much of where I was besides my hotel room and the film set.  Read… to have endless stretches of time just to read.  It’s a fucking misery to try and read a book when I’m filming and can only catch a chapter here and there because we’re on the clock and every second counts.”

Read?  Gregory enjoyed reading?  This was dangerous…

      “You… like to read?”

      “Love it, is more like it.  That’s really how I educated myself and I read everything I can get my hands on, fiction and non-fiction both.  When I’m able, I sit in on a discussion group at a bookshop near my flat.  Sometimes they meet at my local, too, which is especially fun, but I can’t say I participate very regularly.  See?  I want to be able to _be_ a regular with my book group, walk through museums, take in a matinee at the theatre…  I’ve earned it, I think.  Earned a chance to have a bit of ease in my golden years.  Or, at least, have it a _bit_ easier.  Knowing me, it’d be less than a month before I’d be on the hunt for some volunteer work or a half-time job because I’d feel slothful simply lying about the flat, but… yeah, taking things a touch easier would be nice.  So, not soon, but it’ll happen.”

With his blood beginning to move from icy to lukewarm, Mycroft began slowly to relax.  Gregory retiring?  That would have… it was a thing he had never contemplated but… he could not deny the very real possibility of it.  And, though part of him was loath to admit it, his guest very much deserved his restful retirement.  Again, he was only now realizing how terribly long the man had worked in his field and it was punishingly difficult, at times, to find time for one’s self when one had a demanding and time-intensive profession.  Something about which _he_ could speak as an acknowledged expert…

But… and he could not articulate this feeling clearly, even in his own mind but… he had harbored some assumption that… as embarrassing as it was, that they would grow old together!  That the connection, one-sided though it be, would continue long into their dotage.  Not… five years?  It was actually challenging to contemplate that idea, so great a part of his life had been the man finishing his breakfast and looking longingly at the now-empty coffee pot.

      “Shall I begin another round of percolation for your morning’s enjoyment?”

      “Only you could make brewing coffee sound like a royal event.”

      “Does that mean no?”

      “Fuck no!  I was just being admiring.  I like the way you talk, actually.  Like it a lot.  It says something about you, how you think and view the world, that’s interesting.  How you view me, too.”

Really?

      “Oh?  Would you care to explain?”

      “Well, you don’t assume I won’t understand you.  I’ve worked with toffs before for various things and it’s like they’re taking pains to talk down at a level they think I’ll understand because they assume I’m stupid.  I _must_ be stupid to do the work I do, right?  No person with any promise or worth would be working in a filthy business like that.  Blah blah blah…  you don’t do that.  You talk away and have confidence I’ll follow along.  That’s a compliment I appreciate.”

It was more the case that he never changed his manner of speaking or behaving for _anyone_ and if they failed to follow the thread of his meaning then on their head be it, however, Gregory need not now that particular fact at this moment in time.  And, to his credit, he had never believed his fantasy to be an unintelligent person.  He had never considered intelligence at all, truth be told.  But it was clear as crystal that the man across the table was not lacking in mental agility.  He enjoyed reading, for Hypatia’s sake… and, along those lines…

      “Yes, I understand, unfortunately.  However, given the leaning of our conversation, have you, by chance, explored any further in the house?”

A question asked for more than a single reason, not that Gregory could circumvent the lock on the small closet that housed his _collection_ , but…

      “Not really.  I… well, it’s not really polite to have a snoop about someone’s house like that.”

      “Most decent of you.  And, for the aspect of my office, I would have to insist that remains the case, though, there is one room you might find most interesting.  Just one moment while I finish this… and there.  You shall have fresh coffee in a trice and perhaps something to enjoy with it, as well.”

Mycroft crooked his finger and beckoned Greg to follow, walking slowly for greatest drama to the large double doors at the rear of the house and threw them open with as much flair as he could muster.

      “A library!  A fucking… fuck me!  It’s a real library!”

      “If I may be so bold, it is something I consider my pride and joy.”

      “You should!  Oh god.. this is fantastic!”

No, fantastic is seeing the bright gleam in your eyes as you gaze upon the books as if they were gold and jewels in a pirate’s chest.  And your hands nearly clenching as you force yourself to hold back from leaping forward to begin browsing.  A lover of books… there was little better in this world to recommend a man as a person of interest and integrity.  Something Gregory was demonstrating at a rather unexpected rate.

      “Please, consider yourself welcome to explore at will and read whatever takes your fancy.  I appreciate a wide selection of material, so I am confident you will find in here something appropriate.”

      “Something?  I’ll find _lots_ of somethings… this… this is the sort of thing I’ve always wanted.  Always said that if I ever found a larger flat or actually bought a house, I’d make certain there was a room I could do this to.  Just like this, too.  Comfortable chairs, with a fire to be had in the winter… you really don’t mind if I indulge myself a little?”

      “I would be distressed if you did not.  It is a rare thing to find another person with such a passion for books and I do believe they enjoy being held by appreciative hands.  I must make ready to leave, but I shall leave you with a mobile for which only I know the number, so any calls are safe to answer.  If you will excuse me.”

Not that Mycroft believed for a moment Greg heard any of his final speech, so transfixed was the man at the sight laid out in front of him.  A book lover… there was supposed to be a touch of chill in the air this evening was there not?  Perhaps an evening with reading material and a warm fire lay ahead of them.  Oh yes, there was _definite_ danger to this… to worship Gregory’s body, to fantasize about being the focus of his lust… those were very different things than desiring to share time together, even if was as simple as enjoying a quality book, following a quiet, hand-crafted dinner.  Very different things indeed, and, most certainly, things Mycroft Holmes did not fantasize about.

For, there was infinitely less chance he would have those in his life than the sexual pleasure of the man softly stroking the spine of _The Maltese Falcon_.  Sex was something the icy Mycroft Holmes _might_ find for such was a plentiful commodity, but anything else… anything more?  No, that was not for the likes of him… even if now, very oddly, it was something that was beginning to appeal to him and appeal to him greatly…

__________

_Stupid Mycroft.  Why change the locks when you know there is not a lock made that will keep me out for more than… eight seconds?  This was not even a good effort; it was as if his brother had stopped trying.  Which made perfect sense since he was lazy, as well as portly.  Portzy.  A few reams of his majesty’s favorite stationary ordered with a new masthead was a just reward for his rotund slothfulness.  Portzy Holmes, Chancellor of the Kingdom of Cakes.  Fortunately, the ridiculously ostentatious company from which his brother ordered his correspondence materials was happy to take orders over the phone…_

_Now, where would Mycroft have hidden his chequebook?  John was being utterly contrary and insisting he pay for a new table simply because their current model had a scant few scars from electrical burns.  Perhaps one might have destabilized a leg, however, the table was still serviceable, so long as one did not place a heavy item at that particular corner.  Heavy, apparently, as defined by the weight of a full carton of milk, which he also had to buy because John was dictatorial and intolerant of science._

_Last time, Portzy tried hiding his chequebook in the laundry room, however, it was unlikely that he would repeat… whoof!_

Sherlock hit the floor with a painful thud and quickly found himself pinned flat by a heavy weight wrapped around him, which was almost more worrying than the feel of cold metal pressed against his face, very near his eye.

      “Who sent you, you bastard?”

      “Get off of me!”

      “You fucking try to move again and your eye’s the first to go.  Then, I’ll start carving the skin off of your face until you tell me who sent you.  Ready?  I’m only going to count to three so you’d better talk fast…”


	8. Chapter 8

      “I… this is ridiculous!  Get off of me!”

      “Wasted number one of your three count.  That was pretty stupid.”

And to emphasize his point, Lestrange let his knife slightly nick Sherlock’s cheek, which earned him a very satisfying yelp.  Then it was the expected frantic wriggling, but he had that covered and every time Sherlock tried to escape, the net of limbs simply closed tighter until the man on the floor was practically roaring in frustration.

      “Now you’ve wasted number two.  You don’t learn very fast, do you?  Why don’t you just tell me who sent you, who’s doing this and I might let you leave here with most of your fingers on your hands.”

Sherlock listened with growing worry to the frightening tone of amused menace in his attacker’s voice and did something he hadn’t done since he was five years old.

      “Mycroft!  Help me!”

Relaxing his hold, just the tiniest bit, Greg adjusted his position to better look Sherlock in his endangered eye.

      “Why are you calling for Mycroft?”

      “Because he’s my brother!  HELP!  I am captured by a madman!”

      “Not a madman, you arse.  And you’re not Mycroft’s brother.”

      “I am!”

      “You picked the lock, so want to try that again.  A brother would have keys.  Or some fucking respect for the property.”

      “Mycroft confiscated my keys after…”

      “Yeah?”

      “… I stole the rug in his office to replace the I… it was the most minor of holes, but John had one of his typical bouts of histrionics when the slightest thing happens to any of our household goods.  How was I supposed to know Mycroft’s was a gift from some ridiculous prince or whatnot and it was a _completely_ understandable accident that particular rug _also_ acquired a small… or not so small… hole that was entirely not my fault.”

      “I’ll give you this, that sounds exactly like the speech a little bastard of a brother would make.”

      “Then get off of me!”

      “No, because it’s not hard to fathom out that sort of thing and be ready if you get caught like this.”

      “I… give me a phone!  I’ll call the hippopotamus and he will tell you himself!”

Ignoring the urge to flick Sherlock’s ear for calling Mycroft a hippo, Greg thought a moment and wriggled his new mobile out of his pocket.

      “Tell me the number, why don’t you?”

      “Just give me the phone!”

      “And have you call one of your little friends to come and finish whatever it is you’re here to start?  Not a chance.  The only reason you’re getting _this_ chance is I don’t know this area well enough to have scouted out good places to hide a body and I’d rather not have to go to the trouble if I don’t have to.  Now, what’s the fucking number?”

The digits flew out of Sherlock’s mouth faster than Greg could type them out, but the call was placed and now it was simply the wait to see who answered, because this _wasn’t_ the number Mycroft had given him to use in case of emergency.

      “Good heavens, Sherlock… whose mobile have you stolen now?”

      “Sherlock… he a skinny fellow with a mess of dark curls?”

That was certainly not the voice Mycroft was expecting and it actually shot his normal level of concern when Sherlock rang to a rather extreme level.

      “Gregory!  What on Earth…”

      “Is.  He.  A.  Skinny.  Fellow.  With.  A.  Mess.  Of.  Dark.  Curls?”

      “Yes… Gregory, what is going on?”

      “Give me something to ask him that only he would know.”

      “Gregory…”

      “I’m not joking, Mycroft.”

No, the tone of Gregory’s voice was not, in any manner, a teasing one.

      “Very well… ask him the color of Father’s murdered dressing gown.  As opposed to an actual answer, expect a rather affronted outburst to be the response.”

      “Ok.  Alright, you… what color was your dad’s murdered dressing gown?”

      “It was not murdered!  The dress form _beneath_ it was murdered!  And I proved, you know I did Mycroft, that the person who killed that florist could not be a tall man, unless he was sufficiently stupid to commit the crime on his knees!  It was utterly unfair of you to suggest to Father locking away my weapons collection.  I couldn’t conduct a single test for a fortnight!”

      “You’re right, Mycroft, nothing but a tantrum, so I suppose he’s telling the truth.  Here you go, maybe you can find out why he’s here.”

Greg got off of Sherlock and tossed him the phone the second Sherlock jumped to his feet, bristling with indignation.

      “Mycroft!  I demand you have the authorities arrest this… lunatic!”

      “Sherlock, I am going to presume that you did not take what one would call appropriate means to enter my home and Gregory responded with the understandable protectiveness one would have for one’s person in that situation.”

      “He is unhinged!  He held me at knife point!  After tackling me to the floor!”

Oh.  Well, that was… a rather delightful image for more than one reason.

      “He subdued an intruder in my home; I can find no fault with that.”

      “That is another thing!  What is _anyone_ doing in your home?  The toxic atmosphere of your pedantry makes this house unable to sustain life for more than ten minutes.”

      “That enough, you prat.”

Greg snatched the phone out of Sherlock’s hands, giving Sherlock a shove onto the sofa when the detective tried to steal it back to continue his pontification.

      “You’re really related to this, Mycroft?  I feel very fucking sorry for you.”

      “Yes, for my sins, I am.  Let me guess, he worked the lock on the rear door to the courtyard.”

      “Sloppily, too.  Heard the whole business from the library, though I have to admit he made quick work of it.  He the black sheep of the family?  Did his time in the docket?”

Sherlock’s loudly-proclaimed rebuttal that if he _was_ a criminal, the police force would have no ability to capture him due to their collective dull-wittedness was waved off by Greg who used two specific fingers to do the job.

      “Sherlock is a… singular individual, to be certain, but mostly harmless, unless you happen to be one of my personal possessions or bank accounts, which suffer greatly from his discord.”

      “Wonderful.  Alright, sorry to bother you, then.  I… well, you can guess what I was thinking with someone breaking into your house.”

      ‘Yes, and it is a certainty that Sherlock’s presentation did not immediately paint him as a collegial sibling.”

      “That’s why I checked.  So, what news do you have for me?”

      “Gregory, I have been absent from the house for scarcely two hours.”

      “In two hours you can call a nuclear strike on Los Angeles or something, so that’s a pretty thin argument.  And stop snickering, you curly-mopped bastard!  You’re next on my list to deal with!”

That Sherlock responded with a hiss instead of his usual bluster made Mycroft script a mental note to investigate the proper salary for child minders and start making suggestions that such a career might appeal to a soon-to-retire actor he might have recently come to know.

      “I apologize for my sluggardly ways, Gregory, however, there is rather a multitude of issues that require my attention and I must take them in an order based upon time-sensitivity and degree of impact.”

      “Mine is the most time-sensitive and impactful because I need to get back to work and Kevin needs to be found.”

      “I shall impress upon the PM the urgency of your situation.”

      “He’s a gold-plated prick and I sure the fuck didn’t vote for him, so he can sod off and keep his fingers off my urgency, thank you very much.”

Which coincided very much with Mycroft’s views on the man, but that would stay his little secret for now.

      “Duly noted.  Might I, then, return to work so there is some hope that I may review the current leads for your case before the day is done.”

      “You come back here with nothing to say, don’t expect a single bite of what I just might do with the pasta I found in your cupboards and the rest of the tomatoes.”

Gregory already knew where to deliver the mightiest of blows.  The man was nothing if not formidable.

      “I stand forewarned.  Oh, and Gregory, do try and ensure Sherlock returns home with all limbs intact.  Doctor Watson, his… flatmate… would not be happy to suffer Sherlock’s infantile wrath until said arm or leg regrew.”

      “They’re shagging, aren’t they?”

      “It is not my place to say.”

      “So, they are.  Ok, good to know.  Hate to give offense when I can avoid it.  Get back to work.”

Terminating the call, Greg put the mobile back in his pocket and tapped the tip of his knife on his open palm.

      “So, looks like it’s just you and me, Sherlock, old cock.”

      “You can’t kill me now.  Mycroft would have a fit if he had to have this sofa reupholstered.  Again.”

      “You have a point.  Instead, you and me are going to have a little chat.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes to glare at the grinning man and wondered why… there was something familiar about his eyes.  Perhaps he had seen the brute’s photograph in one of the police books that Dimmock was forever trying to keep out of his hands.

      “Oh, about what?”

      “Your brother.”

      “What could you possibly want to know about Mycroft?”

      “The answer to that would be ‘a lot.’  And you’re the perfect one to give that to me.”

      “And if I refuse?”

      “How would your sex life fare if your Doctor Watson learned you started a little fire that smoked up your brother’s lovely house and did more than a touch of damage to his fine things.”

      “John would never believe that.”

      “Why do I not only suspect he would, but that Mycroft could have a note added to the evening newspaper about an arsonist in his neighborhood that very closely matches your description.”

Drat.  Mycroft, give his shriveled sense of humor, would certainly find that amusing and it would be ridiculously easy for him to set in motion.

      “Good, you’re thinking.  _Now_ , imagine how your sex life would fare if, as a reward for being a chatty intruder, I showed you a couple of tricks of bringing your John right up to the edge and keeping him there as long as you like without coming until he’s begging you with everything he’s got.  And, just maybe, as a bonus, mind you, how to tie a very forgiving knot so any bound wrists or ankles don’t show any marks.”

      “Can I take notes?”

      “All you like.”

      “Very well.  You may begin with your interrogation.”

It’ll be a gentle one, lad, don’t worry about that.  Just a few questions about your brother and what he likes, activities he enjoys, whether there’s another bloke lurking about sniffing your brother’s trail… it might be a silly thing, but, on the very off-chance, the sure-not-to-happen off-chance, that your brother might cast a look my way, it’d be bad form to intrude on something else that might already be in the works.  Not that there’s a single signal that Mycroft’s already on someone’s arm, but… there was honorable and there was dishonorable, and _this_ man stayed squarely on the side of honorable.

Unless his partner wanted a little dishonor, of course.  Scandalous, filthy dishonor was a lot of fun with the right person… and wasn’t it a joy to at least consider that Mr. Minor Government Official might _be_ that sort of right person… and certainly in need of some filthy fun to brighten up his day…


	9. Chapter 9

Heaven had descended to Earth and made a home in his kitchen…

      “Gregory… that aroma.  Whatever have you done to bring this delight to life?”

Mycroft continued into the kitchen, drawing in a deep breath of garlic, spices, the rich bloom of fresh basil… fresh basil?

      “From where did you acquire fresh basil?”

      “Daddy’s little helper.”

      “W… what?”

      “Sherlock.  Gave him a list and he did the shopping.”

Fortunately, there were chairs in the kitchen, because if there hadn’t been, Mycroft’s weak-kneed descent would have landed him on the floor.

      “Sh… Sherlock?”

      “Yeah, once that initial… misunderstanding… was over, we got along famously.”

      “I… shopping?  I wasn’t entirely certain Sherlock knew where a shop was to be found that sold groceries.  Or any of life’s necessities, for that matter.”

      “I gave him some ideas where to go to get what I needed.  He resisted, at first, but I told him I’d give him a few tips to quiet his lock-picking so he doesn’t announce quite so loudly he’s being a fucking burglar.  That changed his mind.”

The other tips he’d given the lad would be his secret for now.

      “I… oh.  And… this is information you possess?”

      “Sure!  I can pick a lock with the best of them, if I do say so myself.  Not for nefarious reasons, but now and then, when I was new in the business, I’d be hired by a company that… well, let’s just say they didn’t hold with the idea of paying for their filming locations.  We’d sneak in when the place was empty and film as fast as we could before a security guard strolled by to chase us away.  Fortunately, I moved on to slightly more… reputable and long-lived… studios and didn’t need my little lock pick kit anymore.  Still keep in practice, though.  Everyone in my neighborhood knows that if they lock their keys in their flat, I’m the man to get them back inside.”

Delightful.  Sherlock’s natural tendency towards criminal solutions to problems had found a supporter.  Fortunately, the various locks in his home that protected his most highly sensitive materials were not subject to attack by standard lock picking techniques, else Sherlock would be a greater threat to the nation, _and_ his personal reputation, that was currently the case.

      “I am certain your neighbors are most grateful for your services.  Might I inquire, however, what information did you divulge to Sherlock about your reason for being here?  I assume he did not let that matter go unaddressed.”

      “Oh, told him mostly the truth.  That I was involved in one of your government things and staying here while some things got sorted.  Speaking of, have you found out yet why I’m actually involved in one of your government things?  The more I think about it, the more I’m worried about why it was _me_ they asked for by name when this fuckfest was set in motion.”  

Mycroft mulled why Sherlock would accept such a gossamer story, but decided that gift horses were not to be looked in the mouth, especially when the horse was his brother.

      “Without access to your agent, I’m afraid we have very little information to pursue on that score.”

      “Kevin would have written down who hired me, their payment information, that sort of thing, so It should be there in his office.  An accountant doesn’t keep as detailed records as Kevin does.”

      “Which makes the absence of such things most notable.  There is no written documentation of your hiring or details of the work you were to do.”

      “Someone stole it.”

      “That is one interpretation.”

      “Hey!  You don’t even, not for one second, think Kevin had something to do with all of this!”

The angry fire in Greg’s eyes gave Mycroft pause, but he could not ignore a viable idea, no matter how unpleasant it might be.

      “Until we have unequivocal evidence to the contrary, I cannot ignore any possibilities.”

      ‘You _can_ ignore this one and ignore it like a fucking professional.  There’s no way he set me up.  None at all, so don’t waste time trying to prove something I already know.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Nope, end of discussion.  You want to do something useful, toss off your jacket, pour some wine and help me get this finished.”

Mycroft glared at Lestrange who glared back until Mycroft rolled his eyes so dramatically that the man wielding the saucepan simply had to laugh.

      “That’s the Mycroft I want eating this lovely food.  The one who knows who’s boss around here.”

This time it was Mycroft laughing and he tried, as he had several times since Greg arrived, to remember when he’d smiled or laughed so often.  It was slightly worrying that another occasion didn’t spring, at all, to mind.

      “I am not one to tilt against windmills, at least in culinary matters.  And, I must confess, my mouth is positively watering from the scent of whatever you are preparing.  And… oh dear me… is that…”

      “The cheese?  Yeah, I told Sherlock to pick up a little to shave over the pasta.  I like that particular fellow since it’s got a strong flavor, but blends well with hearty dishes without overpowering them.  A touch pricey, but Sherlock had your bank card, so _I_ didn’t hurt too much from the bill.”

Your cheeky grin is my second favorite, Gregory, and I suspect you know well its devastating power on all who behold it.  And, for your information, that perfectly aged Parmigiano-Reggiano is my favorite cheese when I am enjoying a quality Italian meal and insist it be present at table when I dine out in an evening.

      “It is an exceedingly appropriate choice for tonight’s feast and I am happy to consider its purchase my contribution to our meal.  Which… dear me, Gregory, how many courses are we to enjoy?”

      “Oh, not as many as you’d think.  The sauce needs to simmer a little longer, so we’ve got some nibbles to enjoy and I like a little something sweet and refreshing after a heavier meal, so there’s a touch of gelato for afters.  I had Sherlock get mango and raspberry, so I hope one of those tickles your tongue.”

How… how did you hit upon my favorite of the fruit gelato flavors, Gregory Lestrange?  A small dish with one scoop of each was… oh, it was a joy on an overly-warm day or, as you so correctly stated, at the terminus of a heavier meal.

__

Oh, look at you smile, Mycroft Holmes.  Enormous house filled with fine things and your eyes light up over a bite of cheese and spoon of gelato.  You appreciate the simple things, don’t you?  Well, that’s something I can work with very easily because… no, no saying because I’m a simple man and your appreciation of this simple man is something I might like, because it’s trite and juvenile, but yeah… that.

      “Either of those will be delightful, most delightful, indeed.  You have a talent for choosing the appropriate accompaniments for our dining pleasure, don’t you, Gregory?”

      “I’d say pleasure is something I’ve _very_ talented with, Mycroft, if I might be so bold.”

Ooh, lucky you didn’t sputter your wine all over your waistcoat, Mr. Holmes.  Hate for that handsome thing to look like it’s come over with a case of spots.

      “I… it… that is to say…”

      “Ha!  Look at you getting all flustered with a little teasing.  It’s nice, you know, that you don’t have those sorts of things at the front of your mind when you talk to me.  Lots of people do and it’s… it’s right dull is what it is.  And more than a bit insulting.  Just like with the ones who talk down to me, I get so frustrated when someone knows what I do and assume that all I want to talk about is sex or, worse, that I’m always game for shag.  Work is work and my life isn’t _just_ about my work.  I like it that we’ve talked about nothing except normal things that _anyone_ would talk about.  Interesting things that lots of people _don’t_ talk about, too, because they’re unobservant or ignorant about many of wonderful or exciting things in this world.“

Oh, Gregory… if you only knew what lay in my mind as I look upon you, you… well, your opinion of me quickly would wither on the vine.  However, I _will_ take credit for not letting that govern my behaviors, something which, apparently, means a great deal to you.

      “Thank you, Gregory, and I shall return the compliment that you do not assume my only area of interest is government and have led me through most scintillating areas of conversation, areas I appreciate for their freshness or familiarity as welcome parts of my life.”

      “See?  Told Sherlock we were a good fit as housemates.  Had to beat the breath back into him and get his heart started again after I said that, but I did a class in that sort of thing, so bringing him back to life wasn’t too much of a struggle.”

Something he almost needed to do to Mycroft, apparently.  Must be a family trait.

      “I… my heavens, Sherlock must have been most aggrieved.”

      “He said some especially nasty things, but I threatened him with a good thumping or the loss of an ear if he continued to be a brat and that settled him down.  Mostly because he had to lecture me on how it’s harder to cut off an ear than people assume, but whatever works works, right?”

Intellectual distraction was a _highly_ effective tool with Sherlock and Gregory was most clever to have both discovered that fact and used it successfully.

      “I agree wholeheartedly.”

      “Good, because that earns you this lovely platter of tasty nibbles to bring to the table, along with the wine bottle and I’ll give the sauce one more stir before I join you.  This is nice, isn’t it?  I’ve probably said that before, but it bears saying again.  Just the sort of thing I enjoy in an evening and, I’ll also say, it’s especially nice having someone like you to share the experience with.”

You probably hope you did, but you _didn’t_ hide it fast enough, Mr. Holmes.  That tiny smile that screamed my stupid words made you happy, I mean.  It was just adorable and, for a man so poised and controlled, it looked completely natural and like something that needed to be seen more often than it has been through the years.  Well, I’m going to make it my mission to see you smile whenever I can, so prepare to exercise those muscles every single day that I’m here.  Which, is still a bit of a question as to how long that’s going to be, but… can’t say I’ll be upset if my arse is here for a few more days than I expected.  Maybe, then, you’ll want to see _more_ of my arse and not necessarily in a sexy way.  Though, that’s alright, too.  Actually, I’m coming to believe that’d be more than alright, but no putting carts before horses.  All you got was a broken up cart and what’s the good of that?

__________

      “Gregory?”

      “Hmmm…”

      “That is a rather aggressive gambit.”

      “Chess is an aggressive game.”

      “Something I shall not deny, but do remember that I am well practiced in deflecting the most challenging of salvos.”

      “Oh, see a lot of that with the typing and filing, Mr. Minor Whatsit?  Didn’t know stapling and licking stamps turned into combat up there in Whitehall.  Learned something new, didn’t I?”

You will immediately cease being a quick-witted and dashing individual, Gregory Lestrange, so I hereby proclaim.  I am already basking in the radiance of your beauty, the majesty of your cooking and the knowledge that you enjoy chess… there is only so much prowess a man can display without it exceeding the safety limits for human proximity.

      “You are incorrigible, Gregory, however, I shall have you know I am somewhat formidable and well-practiced in paper-based weaponry.”

      “Flaming airplanes?”

      “What… how did that even leap to mind?”

      “Spritz a paper airplane with alcohol, usually the drinking type since that’s the sort of thing you do when you’re drunk, light a flame and send the bugger through it so it goes POOF! and catches on fire.  Got to have a feel for it, though, because there’s a lot of… what’re they called… variables!  Yeah, lots of variables and it takes practice and skill to make your own flaming plane of death.  Wanna see?”

      “Will an over-proof vodka fit the bill?”

      “Perfect!  Now, we just need…”

Mycroft’s angry ‘damnation!’ at the sounding of his mobile, surprised Greg, but the surprise quickly turned to smugness since Mycroft’s upset was clearly at the disruption of their evening.  Which _was_ about to take a turn for the silly, but wearing a waistcoat didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy a touch of silliness in your day, now did it?

However, after a few minutes, Greg’s smugness turned to something much different as he was certain Mycroft had cut eyes in his direction three times now and he wasn’t smiling when he did it.  When the call finally ended, it seemed a contest as to who would break the silence first.  Mycroft, to his misfortune, won.

      “We have new information, Gregory, about your situation.”

      “You do?  That’s… well, that’s good isn’t it?”

Mycroft felt a very atypical twinge of emotion for the man sitting across the chessboard from him because he knew, he absolutely knew, that what he was about to say would pain Gregory miserably.

      “In this case, no.  Your agent…”

      “Kevin?  What about… no.  Mycroft, don’t tell me…”

      “His body was found along the M5.  A police vehicle stopped to investigate what they thought, at first, was a dead animal and… he was shot, in the head, with a single bullet.  We do not know, at this juncture, if it was done at the time he disappeared or at a later point, but the autopsy…”

      “Oh god… oh god oh god oh god…”

      “I am very sorry, Gregory.  Truly I am.  I wish the news was better, but I assure you…”

      “Assure me what?  That we’ll know who did that?  That I won’t be next?  He… how could anyone…”

Mycroft got out of his seat and nudged Greg up from his, then escorted him to the sofa where he gently sat the quickly-dissolving man and took the seat next to him, after first pressing a large glass of the aforementioned vodka into his hands and encouraging him to take a stabilizing sip.

      “You will be safe, Gregory.  On that, you have my word.”

      “What’s going on, Mycroft?  What the fuck is going on?”

      “I do not know, but, I promise you, I _will_ find out.”

Lifting Greg’s hand once more to prompt another sip, Mycroft only hoped he could make good on that promise.  So far, it seemed like rather an empty one, but he would not fail, despite the lack of threads in his hands to weave into cloth.  He _could_ not fail; it was not allowable.  Gregory would never forgive him if he did…


	10. Chapter 10

Mycroft sat quietly as Greg fought through the black emotions that rolled through him and wished there was something he could do to take away the distressed man’s pain.  There were countless things he _wanted_ to do and, to his surprise, they were not precisely sexual in nature, though the use of such techniques to console, reassure and bring ease to Gregory’s troubled mind… that was truly what would be the point of using them, as opposed to the physical ecstasy he would experience.  It… it was a highly uncharacteristic urge to wish to offer comfort and support, however, he profoundly wished he had the confidence to make a gesture and have it be received welcomingly.  Though, confidence or not… he had to try…

       “Gregory, is there… can I be of help to you at this time?  Please, if there is something I can do for you…”

Though Lestrange shook his head, Mycroft’s own anxieties began to rise from his feeling of utter uselessness and, though he had no conscious memory of ordering the act, his hand reached over and laid itself over Greg’s, fingers curling lightly to give a gentle squeeze.  The surprise at his action was compounded when Greg looked over and smiled, though his eyes were painted heavily with a sheen of unshed tears.

       “I… just catch the fuckers, Mycroft.  I want whoever did this filled from both ends with broken glass and then kicked until they’re torn to shreds from the inside out.”

Dear Gregory had a profoundly bloodthirsty streak, but that simply added to his already immeasurable charm.

       “I am committed to seeing this situation resolved, Gregory.  On my honor, I shall do everything in my power to bring the individuals who perpetrated this atrocity to justice and see you without worry for your own safety.”

The small nod he received from his guest began to calm Mycroft’s nerves and he found that small bit of trust meant no less than the world to him.

       “Thanks.  Oh god… I’ve got to call Andy and Michael.  They’re… they’re hardly over losing their mum and now… this is going to destroy them!”

Ah… the sons.  That was a tragic thing, however…

       “I shall ensure they are compassionately informed and I believe it will be possible to deliver a rather… altered cause of death so they are not imperiled by knowledge of this situation and are better able to process and recover from their father’s death.”

       “What?  No!  I mean… yes, they don’t need to know the truth of what happened, but… I need to talk to them.”

       “I am afraid that is not possible.”

Oh dear… the last time that particular expression crossed Gregory’s face, the result was a broken nose.  And wasn’t it an inappropriate flare of lust that arose from the ferocity of the fire in Gregory’s eyes…

       “And I’m saying it _is_.  I watched those two buggers… I’ve known them since they were born!”

       “That is, unfortunately, beside the point.”

       “The fuck it is!  Do you know how many times they stayed at my flat when Kevin and his wife wanted a night out?   Me feeding those cute little faces because mum and dad loved each other like nobody I’ve ever known and kept that love alive and strong until the day Nora died?  Fuck that, Kevin _never_ stopped loving her!  I’m not going to have some anonymous, suit-wearing drone pop in and ‘oh your dad’s dead, so sorry about that,’ is all those two boys get.  I won’t have it.  I won’t… simple as that.”

       “And I assure you that will not be the message that is delivered.  Further… if they are not properly situated, financially, I am certain some arrangements might be made… a benefit paid for the loss of their father because of this particular operation.”

Oh dear…

       “Operation?  What the fuck do you mean operation?”

That was not precisely the information that should have made it to Gregory’s already agitated ears.

       “I simply meant that…”

       ‘You’re already preparing to lie.  Don’t do that.  Do _not_ tell me a fucking lie right now or you will regret it and very painfully, at that.”

       “Gregory…”

       “And if you even _try_ and plead secrecy or something, you’ll regret that even worse.  You… you had a hand in all of this didn’t you?  Somehow, your fucking fingers didn’t land in the pie when you stepped in the hotel room but at some point earlier, didn’t they?”

Intelligent individuals were a blessing the majority of the time, however, _majority_ did not equate with _all_.  Now, for example, was an instance when a touch more stupidity would be a welcome thing.

       “Really, this is not…”

       “Now, Mycroft.”

Gregory would know if he lied.  And Gregory would lose all faith, trust and… whatever camaraderie they were growing if that lie occurred.  It was not the proper course of action to divulge _any_ information about the Drake situation, but… the thought of losing Gregory’s favor was debilitating…

       “Marcus Drake was… maneuvered to London and to that particular hotel to promote an agenda, one that, hopefully, would remove him from his standard dealings and, further, situate him in a position to provide us with information that would be incalculably valuable for a wealth of initiatives current in motion or poised to mobilize, if necessary.”

       “More.”

       “That is…”

       “If you tell me that’s not possible, it won’t go well for you.”

No, that much was obvious.

       “Very well… Marcus Drake is… was… a major force in global arms dealing.  We have been working for months to establish a meeting, which would gain us incontrovertible proof of his actions that could be leveraged for his cooperation in dismantling his current network, and, hopefully, do similar for others.  This was to be a substantial blow to the arms trade, however…”

       “Someone fucked you in the arse with a stick of dynamite and lit the fuse.”

       “A vulgar, yet accurate, synopsis.”

       “So… this is on your head.”

       “Distally, perhaps.  However, there was no intent at any point to assassinate the man and we have no idea as to why that particular action was taken.  We have a plethora of suppositions, but no evidence to point in a single direction.  That Drake was in London you may lay at my feet, however, nothing beyond that.”

When Gregory was angered, his breathing became heavy and provided with the roughest and most menacing of growls.  There were so many reasons that truth of his nature was a highly unsettling thing…

       “My fucking life is turned on end because of some idiotic government… secret mission?”

       “I would argue the ‘idiotic’ label, however… I will not deny that you became embroiled, by means I do not know, in an initiative that was set in motion to further government interests.”

Greg shot off the sofa and ran his hands angrily through his hair as he stalked through the sitting room, seemingly needing to release some energy before he exploded on the man still sitting on the sofa with more than a little worry about how the next few minutes would play out.

       “Kevin’s dead because of this.”

       “It appears so, though we cannot definitively say that at this point.”

       “Fuck you, yes you can.  Don’t even try to cloud the issue.  Do not insult him or me that way.”

       “Very well.  It is highly likely that his death was a direct result of Drake’s presence in London.”

       “Then you are ABSOLUTELY paying his sons for their loss!  They’ve lost their dad and your foot is directly stepping in the shit that caused it!  They loved him… Kevin was the best dad a boy could ask for!  Did all the proper fathering too many lads don’t see – read to them, went to their school things, took them for those father-son outings that mums hate because they just know the men are getting up to no good…”

       “I have no doubt…”

       “And it wasn’t just his own sons!  Kevin… there are more than a few bastards in this business and you see a fair share of new, young faces getting treated like nobody should _ever_ be treated!  Taken advantage of, used and used up… he wasn’t like that.  Treated his talent like professionals and when he ran across some poor thing who was being done wrong, he’d step in.  Take them under his wing and fuck off to whoever thought they owned them.  Got crosswise of a few head-crackers for that, but Kevin had a few of his own to send back their way so everyone knew not to fuck with him and just cut their losses if they knew what was good for them.”

       “Gregory…”

       “So you see his sons taken care of in return!  It won’t make up for anything, not a single fucking thing, but it’s something, at least.  And you don’t forget about the people he treated fairly, with respect and who the fuck are they going to look to now because they still have to eat and pay the rent.  You don’t forget for a second that a good man and a good friend got dropped on the side of the road like a bag of rubbish and…”

Now it was Mycroft shooting off the sofa, moving at the first trickles of water down Greg’s cheeks though without any real idea what he was going to do, something that was made irrelevant when Greg grabbed him and clung tightly while he let the bitterness and sorrow flood out of his body.  After a shocked moment, Mycroft tentatively moved his arms around to circle the man trembling against him and slowly began to rub his back.

       “I will take care of matters, Gregory.  Be assured of that… I _will_ take care of matters.”

_I will take care of you…_

Greg gripped Mycroft more tightly and several long moments passed before Greg, then, took a step back, wiped his eyes and smiled weakly at the man marveling that he could have brought _any_ comfort to such a vibrant and emotional creature.

       “Thanks.  For… well, for all of that.  Made a right fool of myself, didn’t I?”

       “No.  That is not how I would describe the situation.  And… it is a testament to your friend’s character that he inspired in you such emotion.  That testament is something I shall both acknowledge and honor as I see his sons properly compensated.  If you assist me, I will also do my utmost to see his clients find representation appropriate for their situation and needs.”

       “You’ll do that?”

       “Yes.  If, however, you feel it is a more effective solution, I shall interview individuals who might hope to uptake a career in entertainment management and find a suitable candidate to, for all intents and purposes, step into his shoes and continue his work along the lines that have already been laid.”

       “That… that could be a good idea.  We’re all a fairly close-knit group, Kevin’s clients, that is and… it’d be good if we could stay together under one management.  They’d have to be good though… worth the job.”

       “I will guarantee that very thing.”

       “I dunno… you’re pretty minor…”

Thank you, Gregory, for that small peek of teasing smile that says you forgive, at least to some extent, the role I played in your friend’s demise.  May you never learn of the other things for which I might require forgiveness…

       “I shall stretch my minorness to its very limit.”

       “Alright, then…”

One final sniff to draw back both any lingering tears and to cleanse his lungs, then Lestrange was reaching in his pocket for his mobile.

       “You can start by telling me the cover story you’re going to put out for Kevin’s death so, when I talk to his sons, I won’t say anything I’m oughtn’t.”

Oh dear lord…

       “Gregory, we have discussed this…”

       “No, you told me I couldn’t phone, but I never said I agreed.  Besides, I’m not going to give them this mobile number and, no, I won’t tell them where I am.  I suspect, too, that if anyone’s actually so curious that they’d lay hands on the lads’ phone records to see whose been calling, you can have my call removed.  The number’s probably ex-directory anyway.  There’s no problem here that I can see.  Not a one.”

It was little wonder Gregory had successfully managed, Sherlock… they were birds of a feather when it came to argument.  Unwilling to bend and no thought for the consequences.  However, in this case, Gregory did have some degree of point.  Dastardly man… 

       “If you promise to hold to the guidelines that you, yourself, established, no disclosure of any contact or location information, and adhere strictly to the narrative I set in place for the details of your agent’s death…”

       “I’ve won, haven’t I?”

       “You do not need to seem so smug about it.”

       “Why not?  Smug’s a look I wear very well.”

Yes, you do.  Lord help me, but you do.

       “Then place your call.  It is not unheard of for an agent to, shall we say, have meetings about prospective or current clients that they hope to keep secret for the moment, am I correct?”

       “No, it’s not unheard of, I suppose, especially if they’re courting someone away from another person’s ledger.”

       “Very well.  We shall say that there were some rather confidential negotiations in play that required your agent to be away from London for a few days and, upon return… perhaps a heart attack while he was driving?  A one-vehicle incident that, unfortunately, he did not survive?”

       “He wasn’t found with a car.”

       “That is not how matters will be either reported or recorded in the official documents for the incident.”

       “What if they want… to see their dad?  He’s got a fucking hole in his head.”

Your eye for pertinent detail is most impressive, Gregory, and most frustrating when turned against me.

       “It is not a difficult thing for a talented mortician to camouflage certain details of a death that would be troubling for the family to view.”

Hoping his improvised scenario would pass muster, Mycroft waited a few agonizing seconds before Greg nodded and gave himself a small shake to loosen the cobwebs before placing his call.

       “That’ll work.  Something that could happen to anyone, tragic though it is.  And, Kevin did have a problem with his cholesterol, so it won’t raise any particular alarms in the lads’ minds that they might want to investigate further.”

       “Excellent.  Then, I shall tend to other things in my office so you might have a measure of privacy.”

       “Thanks, Mycroft.  Really, I do appreciate all of this.  Oh, how are you with planning funerals?”

What?

       “Pardon?”

       “I know Kevin’s sons and this is going to destroy them.  I’ll take charge of the funeral arrangements, which I’m certain I can do via phone or online, so they don’t have to shoulder than burden.”

Oh joy, Gregory once again tossing threads into the wind that could be snatched by anyone with a mind to do so.  Well, perhaps that was a bit extreme.  If anything his guest should have a far greater concern for his own well-being and Gregory, though headstrong, was not sufficiently foolish lay a train directly to this doorstep.

       “I… I suppose that would not compromise your safety to any appreciable degree.  I shall offer what assistance and advice I am able, should you require it.”

       “Good.  And I’ll need a suit, so you can start thinking about that, too.”

       “For what purpose?”

       “The funeral?  Remember, the thing we were just talking about literally five seconds ago.”

       “You cannot possibly believe you will attend!”

       “I _will_ be attending and that’s the end of the story.”

       “Oh no it is not!”

       “Oh yes it fucking is!”

And with the mobile tossed on the sofa so Greg could focus fully on this new battle, Mycroft steeled himself for gladiatorial combat via debate.  Under no circumstances was Gregory attending the funeral and that was that.  There would be no movement on this position whatsoever.

__________

       “Ready to go?”

       “Gregory, the funeral does not begin for another two hours.”

       “Your point being?”

       “None.  None whatsoever.”


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft sat next to Greg and only hesitated a moment before laying a hand on his knee to stop the nonstop bouncing that was traveling up the man’s leg and through the rest of his body.  It had been a brutal three days and his guest had suffered terribly from the strain, however, it was an excellent opportunity for Mycroft to learn more about the person currently shaking himself to pieces and, further, to gain a tiny bit of familiarity so that a compassionate gesture, such as a hand on a knee, was not viewed as presumptuous and was, actually, welcomed.

The planning of the funeral had fallen totally to Gregory as the sons of the deceased, most unexpectedly to him, became utterly undone by the loss.  Perhaps… he and Sherlock had not become so disarrayed by the loss of their parents, however… their parents were not quite the doting individuals the deceased appeared to have been.  Fortunately, Gregory made frequent use of his phone to soothe their grief, but was most facile at not disclosing contact information and forestalling a physical meeting until today.  It was obvious that the headstrong nature that characterized the actor overlay a kind and compassionate heart, one that was, itself, broken and had yet to begin healing.

But, to his own surprise, making gestures to help that process had not come as with as much difficulty as he would have predicted.  A greater role in meal preparation, gentle conversation with encouragement for Gregory to share stories about his friend, the suggestion of lighthearted fare when a film was chosen to view… and a shoulder put to work to help with the funeral planning and readying Gregory for his appearance, which included the eulogy currently nestled in the pocket of his new, somber suit.  It had been a challenging and troubling time, but they had weathered it and… it was a cooperative weathering.  As with their work in the kitchen, the rhythm came naturally and Gregory… Gregory did not hesitate to accept the offered help, even if the help was simply an open ear to hear his words or…

… or an actual shoulder on which to cry when the emotions, especially after a conversation with his agents’ sons became too harsh bear.  Gregory felt all things keenly, it appeared, and to simply stand and hold him or place an arm around Gregory’s shoulder as they sat on the sofa was nothing short of… he honestly had no proper word to describe it.  Comfortable, rewarding, blissful, hopeful, sensual… there was a whirlwind of emotions that swirled within him, often conflicting, sometimes behaving more synergistically, that he could not fit into a single amalgam of syllables.  He had dreamed for years, _decades_ , of holding Gregory in his arms and now had done it a full five times.  He would not lie and deny the sexual stirring he experienced, but… it was weak and distant.  Something else greatly overpowered it, and that was the thing he had yet to fully identify.

      “Told you.”

      “Pardon?”

Mycroft looked out the window to see the small, simple church they were approaching.

      “See?  Nice little church.  Kevin was a humble bloke and this is perfect for him.  And, his wife’s grave is just above his, under that tree over there, which they would both appreciate for the humor of the thing.  Always said Nora wore both the trousers _and_ the skirt in the family and all Kev did was launder them… christ, but that’s what it should all be about.  Loving someone so much you can be with them for years and years, but never lose the laughter.  Like them as much as you love them… that’s what they had and we all should hope to find in this blasted life.”

Gently squeezing Greg’s knee, Mycroft wished he could be more comforting on that point, however, his own life did not offer many examples to champion the cause of hope.

      “Some find the true happiness they desire, others do not.  Or do not care if they find such a thing, in the first place.  We live with what we craft by our own design or the fortunes of Fate and, I’m afraid, that is not always entirely to our liking.”

      “True.  Shite, but true.  And the traffic was vicious so we’re not here as early as you thought... guess the Fates decided to be kind for a change.  See?  Already people milling about.”

Which was just sinking into Mycroft’s mind and not in a gladdening fashion.  Already he recognized a half-dozen individuals and there were sure to be countless more.  Familiar faces and bodies from a _legion_ of films and periodicals… the demure, sedate clothing did nothing to disguise their sultry and sordid identities and… oh heavens, he had not mentally prepared for this!  Why had he not prepared for this!  It was absolutely predictable and his brain had gone off on holiday and left him to score a complete failure on realizing he would be surrounded by well-remembered adult actors! Who had… oh dear lord, who had engaged with Gregory in every sort of carnal act known to man.  Yes, perhaps staying in the car was a stellar idea.  There was a great deal of work he could accomplish and…

      “Arse stuck to the seat?”

      “Come again?”

      “We’re here, Mycroft.  Time to leave the vehicle and breathe some fresh air.”

      “The air is most fresh in here and lo!  The windows can be manipulated to regulate the quantity.”

      “You… you’re not coming?”

Oh no.  Gregory looked abjectly disappointed.  Worried, actually… hell and damnation.  He could not allow the man of his fantasies to approach this wretched business without a steadying hand!  It was only the presence of the steadying hand that had made the business possible in the first place!

      “If you wish it, I will certainly accompany you to pay respects to your friend.”

And the disappointment flies away like a bird on wing, to give way to Gregory’s brilliant smile.  The man was a profoundly devastating weapon and not only to the libido of this pitiful excuse of a person currently exiting the vehicle to stand at his side.

      “Thank you, Mycroft.  I know… I know I’ve been complete bastard these past few days and you’ve been positively fantastic through all of it.  I don’t know, actually, how I would have made it this far without your help and support and… just wanted to say thanks.”

The sincerity in Greg’s voice stirred a warmth in Mycroft’s chest that he duly ignored for fear of beginning a soliloquy of the most florid type, confessing many things that were certainly not appropriate for their current location.

      “You are most welcome, Gregory.  I was both honored and gladdened to be of service during this terrible time.”

      “And don’t worry about not knowing anyone here because they’re mostly normal people like me, with a few berks thrown in, and appreciate a bit of non-work conversation, so you’ll have an easy time mingling if I get pulled away for something.”

I suspect I will ‘know’ a _goodly_ number of the attendees, Gregory, though not in a fashion I dare comment upon.  However, if my camouflage technique has been successful with you, I feel certain it will continue to serve me in good stead.

      “Then lead on, for I suspect you are most anxious to speak with your colleagues.”

Greg’s smile lit up the churchyard and he cocked his head to indicate Mycroft take step next to him to enter the fray.  For his part, Mycroft ran through every possible anxiety-diminishing strategy he had on offer that could be performed in public and selected the few most likely to be effective for this particular situation.  It was going to be an onerous experience, but Mycroft Holmes let nothing bring him defeat.  Of course, nothing in his experience and portfolio of talents had prepared him, in any manner, for this particular scenario, so he was, as they say, flying blind.  How joyful it was that Gregory would be at hand to witness his rather spectacular downfall, should it occur… perhaps Gregory would be kind enough to roll his lifeless corpse back to the car for the driver to see to the morgue.  It would be terribly bad manners to require a burial today and take attention away from the man of the hour…

__________

The downfall was imminent!  Gregory… what a personable man he was, but did he have to… hug!  To kiss!  He had shared prolonged embraces and gentle kisses with fully scads of individuals.  Men and women both.  Of notable attractiveness.  Legions of whom had joined him in sexual abandon in countless films and here it was playing out before his eyes!  Not that anything sexual was occurring, per se, but the theoretical aspects could not be ignored.

Through it all, though, Gregory was highly attentive to his presence and never ventured very far so that he was left alone.  In fact… Gregory seemed to appreciate the quiet, confident person, albeit cloaked in heavy layers of mental and emotional camouflage, who stayed close and quickly stepped in to continue the conversation on those occasions when his companion’s emotions got the better of him and he required a small moment to compose himself.  That was especially important when they spoke with Kevin’s sons, both serious-minded, intelligent young men who were visibly troubled and having their own difficulties keeping their darker emotions from those with whom they spoke.  Gregory leaned lightly against him during those conversations, as if some small physical support was needed to pass those moments with any degree of calm.

Though, that calm dissolved completely, as Gregory gave the eulogy and… it was a breathtaking sight to witness him deliver completely heartfelt words as tears streamed down his cheeks.  When he finally returned to the pew, there was little surprise that he reached out to take the hand of the person who gladly took his in return and nudged him to again lean against a willing shoulder for support.

After a fully appropriate amount of time, the funeral and all its associated traditions were satisfied and the process of saying farewell to the attendees commenced, which was another lengthy endeavor that challenged Mycroft’s mental and emotional state, though he bore it with greater success than the initial arrival.  This was especially important since Greg seemed determined to be the last man standing and see all I’s dotted and t’s crossed for his friend eternal rest.

      “I… it’s alright if I continue to call Kevin’s sons, right?  They’re not in good shape…”

      “Provided our stipulations are met, I see no reason to argue against it.  They… they have taken this very hard, haven’t they?”

      “I think all lads believe their parents will live forever.  Certainly not die before they’re even out of Uni!  I know what they’re suffering, though.  Didn’t really know my dad, but I adored my mum and she passed when I was seventeen.  It felt like I carried a hole in me for months afterward and I still miss her terribly.  I… I’d like to be what help I can to Andy and Michael to ease that pain, even if only the slightest bit.”

Mycroft paused only a moment before reaching out to run a hand along Greg’s back, marveling somewhat how he was able to actually touch this person when that was, normally, something he avoided at all costs with every other people he met in his life.

      “You are a good man, Gregory Lestrange and they are very fortunate that you have their best interests at heart.  Now, are we finished here or would you like to linger awhile longer?”

Greg looked at the headstone, shiny and new, staring back at him and both wanted to flee from the horrid thing and stand there the rest of the day so his friend wouldn’t be left alone.

      “Maybe just a few more minutes?”

      “Of course.  I will leave you to your contemplations.”

      “No!  I mean… I can contemplate just fine with you here.”

And, from the look in Greg’s eyes, Mycroft knew walking away would be the worst possible decision he could ever make.

      “Then here I shall remain.”

      “Alright... good.  Do you… is that a smudge on the headstone or a defect?”

Mycroft peered where Greg was pointing and saw nothing different from any other part of the polished granite.

      “I’m afraid I see nothing amiss.”

      “Right there.”

      “I am following the vector of your intended trajectory and cannot say I see anything different from any other part of the object.”

Greg huffed and leaned over to more precisely indicate his point and stumbled slightly from being overbalanced.  Moving quickly to, again, steady his companion, Mycroft felt that highly singular feeling, one he had felt before, when the world stands stock still as one took the moment to contemplate the probability that one was but a few breaths from death.

      “Thanks!  Clumsy me, but… fuck!  You’re bleeding!  Mycroft… what…”

The second shot from the sniper impacted the headstone and, finally, made a fully-audible sound with the collision, something it hadn’t done when it tore through the flesh in Mycroft’s side and buried itself in the soft dirt at graveside.

      “FUCK!  Mycroft.. can you…”

      “L… let us make haste to the c… car.”

Greg positioned Mycroft in front of him and basically pushed the taller man towards the vehicle, where the driver was racing over to help get them to safety, as were the various operatives Mycroft had positioned in select locations around the church and churchyard to prevent just such a thing from happening.

      “Mycroft, oh god…”

A long-range shot… he had not thought that a viable option given the abundance of trees and sparsness of clear vantage points.  Blast!  Oh dear, that was rather a lot of blood… however, mustn’t unnerve Gregory…

      “It… it is a minor…”

      “Minor!  You don’t know what that fucking word means apparently!  I thought it was a joke but, fuck me you need vocabulary help.  We’re going straight to the nearest A&E.”

      “No, we are not.”

      “The bleeding person doesn’t get a vote.”

      “I have all the v… votes.  My personal physician can m… manage this scratch.”

      “SCRATCH!  You’re hemorrhaging!  Driver!  Straight to hospital!”

      “B… belay that order, driver.  H… Home, please.”

      “Mycroft can’t punch you like I can, my friend, so you’d best steer this car to hospital!”

      “Gregory, c… calm yourself.”

      “Your prim and prissy personal doctor’s never seen this!  He won’t know what to do!  Fuck that, you need people who… yes!  Ok… ok, Mycroft… driver, take us home fast as possible.  It’s alright, Mycroft, we’ll get you home safe and sound.”

      “I am h… happy you have seen r… reason.  It really… Gregory?  Why are you o…on your mobile?”

      “Getting you help.”

      “Y… you do not know my ph…physician’s number.”

      “No, but I know your brother’s.  I’m getting that doctor of his on the way.  He did time in the Army.  That’s the man I want working on you.”

      “John?  G…good lord, no.”

      “I’m compromising so work with me here.  It’s John or one of those hospital gowns where everyone can see your arse.  I’ll make you walk around a lot, too, so scads of people get a show.”

      “I… that… my arse is pert and exquisite!  They w… would be honored to… to view it’s… it’s… exquisiteness!”

And with that regal declaration, Mycroft lost consciousness and missed the grin that spread over Greg’s face.  At least for a brief moment.  Then, he remembered the reason Mycroft went a bit out of character and took the opportunity to get a look at his new friend’s wound.  And wound it was.  Looked like a clear shot through and… well, _internal_ anatomy wasn’t his strongest area of knowledge, but maybe this wasn’t quite as bad as it seemed.  Apply some firm pressure, get him real medical attention quickly and, fingers tightly crossed, Mycroft would be in pain, but not in danger.  _More_ danger, to be precise.  This was… Mycroft had been right.  Completely and totally right and he was a complete fucking bastard for _being_ a complete fucking bastard and insisting on putting himself out in the open.  Ignored it all because he had to have his fucking way, as always.  Well, lesson learned… stop being a prideful fucking bulldog and listen when Mycroft had something to say.  The man was a fucking genius, for god’s sake!

And do everything in the world to make up for this.  Apologize until his throat was raw, take the very best care of this man that anyone possibly could… do whatever it took to make up for being a stubborn prat and letting Mycroft get hurt.  Oh shite, this really was a lot of blood…


	12. Chapter 12

The race to Mycroft’s house wasn’t quite neck and neck, but Sherlock and John arrived only moments after Greg and the driver had gotten Mycroft into bed, with a layer of thick towels between him and Mycroft’s extremely-luxurious mattress.

      “Mycroft!  Alright, let's…”

Sherlock ran directly into the back of John, who had stopped dead in his tracks, seeing the man still applying pressure to Mycroft’s gunshot wound.

      “John!  I do not appreciate being road-blocked!”

      “I… shut it, Sherlock.  That…”

That was Gerard Lestrange.  _That_ was Gerard Lestrange.  That was the man he’d seen in a rather embarrassing number of films and clubs, where Gerard had put on a dance performance that nearly made the audience come in their pants.  It had been awhile since… dear god, but the man still looked like sex feels…

      “JOHN!”

      “What?  Oh!  Shite!  Yeah, sorry…”

Don’t smile at me Gerard.  Yes, I gather you’ve figured out I recognize you and are very smug about the fact, but keep your smugness, _and_ your smile, to yourself until we get Mycroft fixed.  You bastard.

      “You must be John.  Sherlock’s told me a lot about you, not the best of which is you’re good at what you do, so… do.”

Even your voice should be declared some form of sin… one of those really terrible ones that earns you an immediate spot in hell with no hope of reprieve.

      “Right!  Let me see…”

John quickly moved to the bed and lifted aside the layers of Mycroft’s clothing that Greg had been using to staunch the blood, and hissed at what they’d been hiding.  The porn god had given an accurate description of the situation and, luckily, he was also likely right about this being survivable. 

      “That’s a bullet wound, alright.  Lift him up and let’s get this off of him so I can see his back.”

Greg carefully lifted Mycroft and helped John remove Mycroft’s jacket and shirt, holding the older Holmes upright while John cleaned away some of the blood and examined the entrance wound.

      “What happened?”

      “Must have been long-range sniper rifle.  Didn’t hear a thing and nobody was nearby when it happened.  And… that was not a small-caliber hit.  Mycroft was worried about something like this, but I don’t think he predicted a sniper.  Surely wasn’t a good place for one.  Too many fucking trees, I would have thought. ”

      “Wonderful.  Luckily for Mycroft, his long-distance friend seems to have missed anything vital, so barring infection or something unpredictable, he should be alright with time.  I’ll have to tuck in a few sutures, but, beyond that we’ll simply have to keep watch that he rests, a _lot_ , stays hydrated and be alert for any sign of infection.  An IV would be the best option for hydration and pain medication, but that’s easy enough to set up here if I don’t decide he really _is_ best off in hospital.”

John looked over to Sherlock who was still standing in the doorway and staring at his brother with his highest level of focus.

      “It’s going to be alright, Sherlock.  Mycroft’s going to be unhappy and will sport a boast-worthy battle scar, but he _will_ be alright.”

Rather than responding, Sherlock turned his laser-like gaze on Greg and surprised both Greg and John with a vicious snarl.

      “Why was Mycroft shot?”

Wishing part of his conversations with Mycroft had touched on now much Sherlock knew about his brother’s comings and goings, Greg opted for the simplest route – stick close to the truth and, when that wasn’t possible, lie convincingly.

      “I have no idea why anyone would want to shoot your brother.”

Absolutely true.  Not one real bit of concrete information about what Mycroft did with all his minoring, so who was to know why anyone would want to shoot him or _if_ anyone would want to, in the first place!  He wasn’t a miserable bastard, so shooting him probably fell rather low on the average person’s list of priorities.

      “Incorrect.  You stated you were involved in one of Mycroft’s tedious operations, so you have _some_ knowledge of this.”

But, since you didn’t get any real details about that, Sherlock, you’re very much in the dark right now, which even _I_ realize is something you likely don’t handle well and is certainly a big part of why you’re upset right now.  Not that I blame you in the slightest…

      “Sorry, lad, but I don’t.  Why anyone would want to shoot your brother is beyond me.  If I knew, I _would_ tell you.  All I care about now is that him being shot doesn’t keep him from being _alive_.”

Sherlock’s clear dissatisfaction with the answer prompted Greg to implement distraction measures while John began digging in his bag for necessary supplies.

      “Tell you what, Sherlock… it’s been a brutal day and I could use coffee.  Lots of coffee.  Why don’t you start that going for me while John and I see Mycroft stitched and settled?”

      “No.”

      “I’ll make it worth your while.”

John had no time to ask about Sherlock’s ‘I’m considering it’ eyebrow lift, nor that he whirled and left the bedroom, but he filed the information away for later.  No, on second thought, filing was _not_ needed… where Sherlock had learned certain… things… was suddenly and abundantly clear.

      “Pieces falling into place there, John?”

He spoke to me!  Ok… no acting like a star-struck prat just because he _is_ a star.  At least for a certain section of the entertainment sky…

      “I have no idea what you mean.”

      “Yeah, you do.  Good!  Glad to see the lad took my suggestions to heart.  I’ve got plenty more in this head of mine, too, don’t you worry.  Not that I suspect you are since I _do_ know you know who I am.  I told Mycroft nobody ever recognizes my face, so he’ll be happy to learn I was proved wrong, cheeky bugger that he is.  Seen my films or photos or…”

      “I… it’s… can we not talk about this?”

      “Why not?  Nothing wrong with what I do or with the blokes that enjoy it.  My job’s to make you hard and that’s certainly not illegal.”

      “No, but… it’s…”

      “Nobody recognizes my face unless they’ve seen it a lot, I wager.  Come on, John… you’ll only make me happy if you tell me you’re a true fan of my work.”

Smiling is entirely unfair and you know it, Gerard.  I can _see_ you knowing it…

      “Jooooohhhhhnnnnn….. tell meeeeeeeeeeee…..”

      “Fine!  Fine… yes, I’ve seen some of your films.  And… went to a few clubs when I was younger so…”

      “You saw me dance!  Brilliant!  I’m amazing at that, aren’t I?  If my fucking knee hadn’t turned traitor I’d do a lot more of it, but I can only manage a time or two a month anymore.  It’s not all bad, though, because it makes my show more special, in a way.  Word gets out that I’m booked for a performance or two and the club is packed to the rafters!  Where’d you see me dance?”

      “I… look, Gerard…”

      “Greg.  Call me Greg.”

Oh… well, that was a tad normal, at least.  Not that anything else about this person, or this day, was normal, so far.

      “Ok, _Greg_.  It’s not important, alright, so let’s just…”

      “Sherlock doesn’t know you’ve got a taste for porn, does he?”

Eye twinkles are not allowed!  Sorry, but that’s a bridge too far, good sir…

      “I’m… I’m certain… _very_ certain actually… he’s checked my browser history.”

      “What sites?  My films are licensed to a few good ones and I can get you a discounted membership if you…”

      “NO!  No, thank you.  Let’s… let’s just concentrate on what we’re doing, alright?  Remember Mycroft?  The one dying of blood loss?”

      “He’s not dying, you said so yourself.  Though I’m going to do everything I can to make him feel better while he’s going about his not dying.  That’s a promise.  So back to my films, which ones have you seen?”

      “Greg…”

      “Seriously, what have you seen me in?  I can give you better recommendations for other quality options if you tell me which turned you on the strongest.”

      “I’m _not_ talking to you anymore.  Hand me the scissors.”

      “You broke your own edict in one second.  That has to be a record.”

Greg passed John the scissors and loved John’s yelp as he added a small finger-stroke of John’s hand in as a bonus.

      “Don’t do that!  How… how are you even here?  Mycroft cannot have tolerated you for more than a minute before going mad.”

      “He’s made of stern stuff.  So, are you a fan of my earlier films or my later ones?”

      “I don’t know you.  You are my anonymous nurse.”

Who was actually doing a very respectable job of _being_ a nurse, actually.  Most people wouldn’t manage the sight of that much blood very well, let alone jump in to help clean it and keep such a keen eye on the suturing, almost as if he was checking the quality of the work.

      “You’re cute when you’re flustered, John.”

      “Why are you calling John cute?”

And, speaking of cute, Greg had to admit the sight of Sherlock grumpily holding a cup of coffee and glaring like a just-woke-from-a-nap toddler was perfectly described by that selfsame term.

      “Because he’s playing hard to get and won’t tell me…”

John’s eyes flared wide, but Greg wasn’t stupid, or dishonorable, enough to let certain things leap into the open.

      “… what films of mine he’s seen.  Did I tell you I was an actor?  Just small parts, but it pays the bills.”

Sherlock’s glare morphed into bored disinterest and that followed him all the way to depositing Greg’s coffee on Mycroft’s nightstand.

      “That explains why I was burdened by a flicker of recognition.  John is forever watching ridiculous and mind-numbing fare and demands I suffer in silence while I die on the sofa from the sheer inanity of what passes for mass entertainment.  You are not remarkable, so it is not surprising you left no significant impression on me.”

      “I’m hurt.   Coffee smells good, though.  Thanks for that.  Here, want to see how talented John is with needle and thread?”

Both Greg and John noted the slight hesitation before Sherlock leaned over and John, especially, felt his heart go out to his partner.  Sherlock hid his affection for his brother exceedingly well, but it _was_ there and stronger than maybe even Mycroft, or Sherlock, fully understood.

      “John, are… you are certain there was no appreciable damage?”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, because I can assure you the bullet did a significant amount of mischief on the way through, but not enough that I need to do a little surgery to fix.  At least, that’s what I’m saying now.  I’ll keep him under observation, so any incidences of internal bleeding or other problems can be dealt with quickly.”

Sherlock’s thought a moment then nodded as if satisfied by John’s diagnosis and willing to pack his emotions for the time being.

      “Unacceptable.  That means I have to remain here, also, and I am not interested in contracting Mycroft’s contagion of tedium and cake addiction.”

      “You don’t have to stay.  Feel free to go back to the flat and have the whole space to yourself for whatever insanity you want to perpetrate on everything we own before I come home.”

      “It is not as diverting when you are not there to provide amusing reactions.”

Greg laughed and found himself feeling more than slightly happy that John simply rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s nonsense.  After meeting Mycroft’s brother, he’d worried a bit about who this John must be to involve himself with Sherlock, but… this was perfect.  Really, the lad couldn’t be in better hands…

      “Regardless, I’ve got to stay and…”

      “Actually, John, I’ve had a bit of experience with this and I’m here anyway, so after a few hours why don’t you take Sherlock home and be amusing for him.”

John narrowed his eyes and wondered if it was wise to ask why a porn actor had experience tending to someone with a bullet wound, but decided that there were things in life he was better off not knowing.

      “I’ll see how this progresses and if Mycroft seems stable and likely to sleep, then that might be possible, once I get an IV set up to see him through the night.  I’ll be back in the morning, though, to give him a check.”

      “Great!  Sherlock, my lad, while we get Mycroft comfortable, why don’t you pour a cup of that scalding-looking coffee for John as a reward for keeping your brother’s insides on the inside?”

      “John has an adversarial relationship with coffee.”

      “I do not!  The fact you _drugged_ my coffee at Baskerville makes me understandably reluctant to look fondly upon a cup of your scalding bean water.  But, I’d take a cup of tea if you’re offering.”

Sherlock snorted, but, again, left the room and missed the large smile that was crossing Greg’s face.

      “Drugged your coffee?  You are into some _kinky_ business, aren’t you, John?  How much of your medical equipment actually goes towards helping patients?”

      “No!  It was… it was for a case and it’s _not_ something I enjoy remembering, thank you very much.”

      “Alright, alright…  I’ll leave the issue alone _if_ you decide you _do_ enjoying remembering my film history.  Just one film, John.  You can do it.”

      “Can we just…”

      “Sherlock drug you a lot?  That something you get to look forward to when you’re home on a cozy Sunday with rain tapping against the window… and your feet in the stirrups…”

      “Can’t you… fine!  That one… there was one about a librarian and a patron that stayed late…”

      “Sex in the Stacks!  That was a brilliant one!  I like that one, too, truth be told.  Only downside was, and maybe you can help me with this, but I did that one with my old mate David and… I have no idea why, but I do _not_ like the taste of his spunk.  Not at all.  Something he eats or body chemistry or I have no clue what, but I tell the director when I work with Davy that he can come on my arse or my face, but I’m not catching it on my tongue or licking anything clean once he’s done.  Sorry, but that’s just not going to happen.”

While John silently sobbed, Greg continued wiping blood off Mycroft’s skin and made sure the doctor didn’t see the tiny kiss he planted on Mycroft’s temple before setting aside the damp cloth.  Keep the performance going, hold the smile, tease and keep the client entertained… they don’t have to know anything about how you’re really feeling that day.  No reason at all for them to know if you’ve had a fight with the wife, a horrid day at a film shoot… or that you’re worried to death, shouldering a mountain of guilt and desperate to see a pair of beautiful blue eyes open so you can start to breathe properly again.  Those are the sorts of things you can keep to yourself.  Nobody needs to be bothered with any of that.  Nobody but you…


	13. Chapter 13

Floating on a cloud… painkillers.  Prone.  No sounds of an unnerving or disturbing nature.  The scent of coffee in the air…

      “There you are!  Hoped you hadn’t found a lovely dream and decided to stay there instead of coming back home.”

Mycroft continued to open his eyes and slowly turned his head towards the sound of the voice, not acknowledging the surge of… something… that Greg was at his bedside.

      “I… I have no memory of any d… dreams, actually.”

      “That could be good, if you were running from the taxman all the while you slept.”

Fingers moving aside his frustratingly-errant curl and lingering slightly on his skin…

      “Where… am I… this is…?”

      “It’s your house.  Got John here, just like I said, to check you over and fix you up.  Right man for the job, too, as I expected.  Dove into things without any straightening his monocle or looking for his leech pail like your bloke probably would have done.  How do you feel?  Be honest, too, because lying will be dealt with in a very brutal fashion.  Won’t get a single biscuit or cup of tea or sweets or anything else people sick in bed get.”

Slightly frantic pace to Gregory’s words… highly complex tone…

      “Mycroft?  Come on, Mycroft, try and focus on me, if you can.  If you can’t, then just go back to sleep for awhile and get a bit more rest.  Lots of rest is the ticket here and you get all you can, alright?”

Nervous, worried, afraid, hopeful, more… oh, those fingers do feel marvelous on my cheek…

      “Yeah, I think someone could use a little more sleep.  You just have a nice little nap and ol’ Greg will be right here keeping the beasties from creeping in and stealing your blankets.”

Mycroft blinked a few times and drew in a slow breath to bring his mind as fully into reality as was possible, given the amount of medication flowing in his system.

      “I… I believe I might remain awake for the time being.”

      “Ok!  That’s good, too!  Got everything you might need right here to keep you entertained.  Music, books, me… I’m a very entertaining individual, in case you didn’t know.  I can juggle, for instance!  Are you thirsty?  Yeah, you look thirsty, not that ‘thirsty’ has a look per se, but you have it anyway, so hold on while I pour some for you… there.  And look!  I found these old straws at the back of your cupboards and made a bendy one with a bit of tape and scissors.  Works a treat, too, but don’t worry about getting my germs, because I tested one then built a new one for you.  Now, let me hold the cup down like this and pop the straw in your mouth… there.  Good?”

Mycroft appraised the man smiling warmly at him and slowly took a small sip of the cool water.

      “Very refreshing.”

      “You want any more, you say so.  Don’t wait a single second, alright.  Water’s important, though, John has you fixed up for lots of fluids with your IV.”

Ah yes, that was the source of the sensation in the right?  left… the left hand.

      “Most ch… charitable of him.”

      “He’s a good sort and wasn’t miserly with the pain medication, which is important for something like this.  Need that rest I was talking about… lots and lots of it… all you can get… good, comfortable rest, best fucking rest in the world… and you can’t get that when you’re grimacing and grunting and feeling like… well, like you caught a bullet!"

Mycroft watched Greg’s face twist as he tried to hold back the emotions that were battering at him, ultimately failing completely and Mycroft had another chance to watch a familiar wetness began to slide down Greg’s cheeks.

      “Gregory, I…”

      “Because you did, you know?  You caught a bullet.  Meant for me, it was, and you took it.  Took it because I was a complete bastard.  An unreasonable, miserable bastard and wouldn’t listen to you…”

      “Gr… Gregory, please…”

      “No, I have to say this.  You were absolutely right and I pushed you aside like the stubborn arse I am and barreled forward like a runaway lorry.  This is _my_ fault and don’t think for a moment I don’t realize that.  You got hurt… it could have been worse, too!... and it is totally and completely my fucking fault.  I am so sorry, Mycroft.  I could not be sorry, it’s not possible.  I’m sorry for being an utter prick and I’m sorry for not listening and I’m sorry for… for everything!  I couldn’t be sorrier and I understand if you can’t forgive me or if you need a few good punches thrown before you feel you can…”

Mycroft was happy Greg was seated on his right, since he could use his free hand to reach across and grasp one of Greg’s wildly flailing ones and grip it with what little strength he possessed at this point.

      “Calm, Gregory… find your calm.  I willingly forgive your st…stubborn and forthright behavior and sh… shall not require physical retribution to find satisfaction.  I would, however, ask that you do re… regard my words when I advise and pay them he… heed.”

Greg’s eyes glistened like jewels to Mycroft’s mind and his smile was the most breathtaking sight a bullet-ventilated man could witness.

      “I will.  As long as they’re smart and make sense.”

There really was no surprise there, but compromise was their current equilibrium, so it would do.

      “Then we have an ac… accord.”

Greg squeezed Mycroft’s hand gently and sniffed back the last of his tears, smiling harder than he thought possible.

      “Brilliant!  Thank you, Mycroft.  Thank you so much… I was so worried my arse was going to be bounced out of here and into the Thames with rocks tied around my ankles.  Who would take care of you, then?”

Which sparked in Mycroft a bit more awareness as he realized he was in his own pyjamas and, despite what must have been a deluge of blood, his skin did not feel tacky.

      “Gregory… am I… cleaned?”

      “Yes!  First thing I did when John got you sutured.  Made sure you were clean and into some fresh pyjamas.  I’ve had a lot of experience doing that with… well, passed-out drunk mates and other reasons, so it wasn’t a problem, at all.”

Cleaned.  In pyjamas.  There was no possible mechanism for that except… oh dear.  Nudity!  Gregory had born witness to his nudity… this was… oh dear heavens…”

      “Mycroft!  Time for _you_ to calm down a touch, alright.  I might need my fingers one day and they won’t be much use what with being turned to dust.”

Greg gently made calming shushes as he worked to pry Mycroft’s iron-like fingers off of his own hand and used his remaining, functional hand to softly stroke the skin on Mycroft’s arm.  Which only seemed to make the matter worse.

      “It’s alright, Mycroft, I… oh.  Oh… yes, I’ve got it now…”

Do not smile knowingly at me, Gregory!

      “Such a pretty pink on those cheeks… and some other cheeks of yours are aptly called pretty, too.  You were absolutely right about that pert and exquisite business.  Just a wonderful thing is your bum.  Something you should be proud of!  Got a nice cock, too, if you’re curious.  I’ve seen scads them, so I consider myself sort of an expert and you’ve got a lovely one there in your pyjamas.”

I am now dying.

      “So, don’t worry about being bashful or modest; you’ve got nothing to be worried about in those areas.  And I didn’t take advantage of anything, either.  That’s not the sort of bloke I am.  Made sure everything was fresh and clean, bollocks to bum to brain, and that was all.”

Dead.  Death has arrived on Stygian wings in the form of the most sexually-enticing man in existence.

      “Still pink?  Want me to strip down so you can see my bits and bobs to even up the score?”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!   

      “That… that will not be ne… necessary.”

      “Are you certain?  I don’t mind, if you feel having a look at my goods will make you feel better about me getting a look at yours.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

      “T… tit for tat is not a personal ph… philosophy.”

      “That’s smart, actually, since it never goes well in the long run.  But, I’ll get to see yours quite a bit until you can manage a little better on your own for certain things, so let me know if you change your mind.”

Was there a condition more dead than fully dead?  It very much felt as if that were the case.

      “ _See_?  I… I assure you I am m… most capable…”

      “Don’t worry about a single thing because this man, notice, I’m pointing at myself in case it’s unclear, is amazing as a nurse.  I’ll make certain you don’t have any problems and stay clean, fed, entertained… I’ve got this, don’t you fret.”

FRETTING!  FRETTING WITH LETHAL INTENSITY!

      “Gregory… I am most heartened you w…wish to assist with my recuperation, h…however, it is not necessary.  I do not want to bur…burden you.”

      “No burden at all!  Even if this wasn’t entirely my fault, I’d still step in to see you taken care of.  Besides, you know how hard it’s going to be for the next few days, don’t you?”

Away with the knowing look!  Away I say!

      “I… I have no idea what you m…mean.”

      “Yeah, you do.  John didn’t notice, what with being focused on _this_ issue, but you’ve been shot before.  Small caliber, .22 maybe?, right there almost tucked under your arm.”

It is entirely unsporting of you to notice that.  It implied… inspection.  Close examination of my naked flesh… joyful.  Dead once more.

      “I… perhaps…”

      “Knife wound in your thigh, too.  Few other things, as well, I noticed when I had a look at you.  Didn’t spend your whole life holding desk chairs to floors, did you, Mr. Minor?”

Is that… are you sporting an approving expression, Gregory?  Oh, well… that was somewhat enlivening.

      “Your brother know about those?”

Sherlock’s reactions to his various injuries would have been exceedingly unpredictable and, given his brother’s lifestyle at the time, there was enough unpredictability to manage without adding more to this older brother’s already overflowing plate.

      “No.  At least… not all.”

      “Didn’t think so or he would have said something.  Anyway, you know very well you’ll need a little help and I’m the perfect man to give it to you.  Already seen your bits and did a rummage around to find your clothes and where your stuff is in the bath.  And I’m an expert in your kitchen, so that part’s sorted.  Really, you’re in the best possible hands...”

And you did not notice any discrepancy between the placement of the wall at the rear of my closet and the exterior wall of this side of the house.  Excellent.

      “... and you _will_ need hands, Mycroft.  That was a large-caliber strike and it won’t be a quick or painless healing.”

That was surely the case and… he could not deny the comfort of not being called to handle the situation alone.  Normally… normally, that _would_ be his preference by a very large margin, however, the thought of Gregory present to provide help was an uncharacteristically welcome one.

      “Then… I offer you my thanks, Gr… Gregory.  It shall be a heartening thing to have sup…support during this time.”

      “I’m happy to do it, too.  I still can’t fathom how a sniper drew a bead on us, though.  At the hotel, sure, that wasn’t hard.  Not a lot of talent required for that, but… there were a lot of fucking trees in the way at the church!  That was an insanely-difficult shot to set up.”

Something that was still puzzling Mycroft, also.  However, there could not be many individuals with that level of skill who were also available for hire by those who might be involved in the Drake situation… that would narrow the possibilities greatly and could offer the first real lead in this damnable operation.

      “I agree.  And… oh dear…”

      “Are you trying to get out of bed?  None of that silliness!  At least, not until John’s given you a check in the morning.  Anything you need, you ask me and I’ll jump like a startled hare to get it for you.”

      “My… my mobile.”

      “Why?”

      “I must c... coordinate with those in… investigating the shooting.”

      “Ok, I agree that’s something important, but it’s probably not going to be very productive at 3:17 am by your clock.”

      “Ah… I had not realized…”

      “Now, while I wager you’ve got people working round the clock, I suspect everyone would appreciate you following banker’s hours for this one and getting a bit more sleep yourself.  John left something if that was a problem, so you tell me if it’s hard to rest and I’ll pass you a very happy little pill.  Want more water?  You’ve got that thirsty look again.”

Not waiting for an answer, Greg made the cup of water available to Mycroft who drank an amount that satisfied the makeshift nurse’s sensibilities.

      “Good job.  How’s your stomach?  Any queasiness?  I’ve got a supply of very plain things here for you to nibble if that starts to be a bother, but not too much.  That can start the tummy eel doing his tumbling, too.”

      “I am fine for the m…moment.”

      “Need to piss?  Got a bottle handy and that’s something else you shouldn’t be shy about.  Man’s gotta have a wee when the body needs one and there’s nothing shameful about that.”

How many times could a body die in one night?  Was there a limit to reach?  If so, Gregory was likely to push said body directly to the very edge.

      “I am also f… fine for that.”

And growing heavy-eyed, which made Greg _very_ happy.  Lots of good sleep, that’s what his patient needed and now was a very good time for him to get some more.

      “Alright, then.  How about you close your eyes awhile and see if you can rest.  I’ll be right here, with my book, so you won’t ever be alone longer than it takes for me to have a quick piss myself or make a touch more coffee.  I _will_ be here for you, Mycroft, have no fears about that.”

Mycroft wrestled with the highly indefinable tone in Greg’s voice, as well as his equally indefinable feelings about his guest’s words and chose simply to nod and let his eyes close as commanded.  For his part, Greg took a moment to straighten Mycroft’s blanket, check the water in the small pitcher he’d put on Mycroft’s nightstand and wait a few minutes for the expected deep breathing to begin, signaling Mycroft had returned to sleep.  Not that he’d follow suit.  Not for a minute.  Didn’t matter if it took ten pots of coffee to stay awake, he’d make very sure the slightest peep from the sleeping man was dealt with immediately and to the best of his ability.

And he’d take some time to use his own mobile to make a few calls and check that he and Mycroft were the only ones who saw or heard anything at the church.  None of his mates needed to get pulled into this business, so a quick check was certainly in order.  There were a couple of other calls he’d like to make, too, but his temporary mobile wasn’t the one he wanted to make them on.  Might be time to do a bit of his own investigating, but Mycroft certainly didn’t need to know anything about it.  Anyway, that part could wait, because Mr. Minor’s minions might have news and his own calls wouldn’t be necessary when all was said and done.  Besides, the only thing of real importance right now was seeing Mycroft well… nothing was more important than that and if he had to stay here for weeks to make that happen, then Mycroft better be ready to order in some more clothes and shoes in his size…


	14. Chapter 14

      “I think not.”

John sighed and was glad Greg was there to stand on _his_ side of the proverbial line in the sand.  Even better was his willingness to take point in the argument with the most stubborn man in the universe, Sherlock’s own healthy portion notwithstanding.

      “Mycroft, you’ve got a hole in you a mouse could comfortably live in!  Listen to John… you need to stay in bed for a few more days so you heal properly.”

Learning upon waking that his former bout of wakefulness was real and not a feverish dream, Mycroft had fallen into the same pit of agony that had welcomed him a few hours ago.  This war had waged a good ten minutes now, but was nothing compared to what could only be described as the battle of the titans when he announced, upon shaking away the mental cobwebs and taking stock of his physiology, that he needed to urinate.

_“Nope, you’re not standing up until John says you’re medically cleared.  Sorry, but I have to insist, so sod off with your crazy notion of sauntering off to the loo for a piss.  I’ve got the proper equipment at the ready, so be a good patient and listen to your exceedingly-skilled, and handsome, nurse.”_

That battle had raged until he, drained from making no headway against the immovable, and _indescribably_ handsome, object, agreed to allow Gregory to support him slightly sitting up in bed while he tended to matters, and the accursed bottle, himself.

      “I have a tremendous amount of work that requires my attention and…”

      “Your mobile!  Fellow like you can probably do all the work he needs by ordering people to do this and that for him.  You’ve surely got a half-dozen other devices, too, that would help you take care of things from this safe and comfortable bed.”

      “While there is some truth to that, there are matters that require my personal oversight and…”

      “They can bring them here!  Whatever papers or files or whatnot… bring them here for you to read or they have that those newfangled things called email and cloud services, you know, so sharing all those matters becomes a fairly simple thing.  From this _safe_ and _comfortable_ bed!”

      “Gregory…”

      “Teleconferencing!  Skype!  Whatever!  Oh, that technology is a wonderful bastard for bedbound bullet-riddled blokes like you, so take advantage of it!”

It was exceedingly unfair that Gregory had knowledge of communications technology.  A man his age should be woefully ignorant of such things, viewing them as dangerous forms of hoodoo and witchcraft.

      “When one manages matters of a somewhat sensitive nature, the avenues of information transfer must often be restricted and face-to-face discussion proves often to be the most confidential and productive strategy.”

      “Then we’re back to they can come here!”

      “I am not an invalid!”

      “You’ll _be_ one if you dance around the city like you’re paid to do it!”

      “You are intractable!”

      “I’ll be ten times as intractable if it keeps you in bed so you can heal properly!”

John would never confess to the fact that watching this rather ferocious side of Greg was doing inappropriate things to his imagination because (a) this was a professional medical visit and (b) Sherlock hadn’t fathomed out any details his Mind Palace would explode upon receiving and that was a situation to everyone’s benefit.

      “John… do intercede on my behalf and inform Gregory there is no reason for me to remain here as if on my deathbed.”

      “I’d like to be able to do that, Mycroft, except it’s not too far from the truth and if you’re hoping to toddle off to wherever your Fortress of Solitude is, I’ll not medically clear you for it.  Greg’s right… to avoid complications, you need the rest and time off your feet.  I know you’d prefer it if things were different, but I have to insist that you take life very easy until I tell you otherwise.  I’ll be back tomorrow for another check and see how you’re progressing, but, in the meantime, don’t do anything to set back your recovery.  A few days, maybe a week of simple rest will be a lot more to your liking than a stint in hospital because you’ve got an infection or internal bleeding that we have to open you up over to plug the leak.

Mycroft huffed a frustrated sigh and nodded slightly, though only because the last portion of John’s speech held appreciable merit.  A few days away from his office would already be troublesome, but an extended absence would have more than a few individuals, in more than a few governments, running about like startled pigeons.  There was already enough of that in government without him adding more to the mountain.  However… contemplating the breadth of the situation was enough to give him heart palpitations, the source of which currently was smiling at him with a warmth that could chase away the bitterest of winter’s chill.

      “Good.  Really, Mycroft, Greg and I only have your best interests at heart.  And, along those lines… Greg, want to find Mycroft a little something for breakfast?  Not too heavy, though.”

      “I’m on it!  Bit of toast and jam, maybe a little egg, tiny bit of fruit?”

      “Sounds good, but keep the portions small.”

Greg gave a very excited thumbs up sign and patted Mycroft gently on the leg before darting off to ready a breakfast tray.

      “Is there any chance, now that the gargoyle is no longer guarding the gate, that I might convince you…”

      “No, Mycroft, you can stop right there.  And no evil talk about your gargoyle, either.  Truthfully, I worried a bit that I’d come here today and you’d be not as hale, hearty and well-tended as you are, despite the somewhat impressive skill Greg showed yesterday when I was getting you sorted.  You’re clean, bandages changed quite expertly, not dying for a piss… you’ve got a qualified home caregiver watching over you, so don’t be difficult, if you can help it.”

      “Drat.  Oh very well, but I am trusting in your honor and professionalism that you will release me from this bed the very moment it is feasible.”

      “I will, but you’ll still need to take things slowly.  You were very lucky, Mycroft, but it won’t take much to turn that luck in the other direction.”

Joyful.

      “I did mean to ask though…”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and tried to read John’s intentions from the slight hesitation and cut of the doctor’s eyes towards the door as if he worried they might be overheard.

      “… you _do_ know who ‘Greg’ is, right?”

The use of air quotes around Greg’s name turned on a very bright bulb in Mycroft’s mind.

      “Ah… I take it you do, as well, Doctor Watson.”

      “Not something I’d admit to a lot of people, like Sherlock, but yeah… it makes me wonder why he’s _here_.  Something you can’t talk about?”

      “Very much the case, I’m afraid.  If it gains you any clarity, I can say that there was and is a certain matter into which Gregory became entangled and it is to his benefit, as well as the benefit of the ongoing situation, that he remains very much out of public view.”

      “Oh.  Then why was he at a funeral?”

Do not perpetrate your logic on me, John.  I am injured and that is exceedingly unsporting.

      “It was, unfortunately, that of a dear friend and Gregory was not willing to accept my insistence that he not attend.  You have seen how difficult it is to move his mind from a position in which it has become entrenched.”

      “He could win prizes for stubbornness, that’s for certain, but that’s good in this case, since he’s banging heads with someone _just_ as stubborn.  But… how _are_ things going here?”

      “I… what do you mean?”

And pray there is nothing in your words that… vexes me.  I have a lifetime’s worth of vexation at the moment from the person merrily dancing about my kitchen.

      “I just… you’re not the sort that immediately leaps to mind when one thinks of a housemate situation.”

The vexation is minimal.  Well done.

      “I suppose you have a point.  I have never been a voraciously social individual and prefer singular pursuits to those better enjoyed with companionship, however, Gregory has certainly proven himself an agreeable guest.  Despite his rather notable aggressiveness during an argument, he is a placid fellow, taken in sum, and one who relishes time for simple activities such as reading, cooking or a game of chess.”

      “Really?  That’s…, ok, that’s not precisely what I would have expected, but it’s probably uncharitable of me to think that way so I’ll keep my mouth shut.  But…”

      “Yes?”

      “You know I have to ask.”

      “No, I do not, for I have no idea what it is you are thinking.”

      “Mycroft… you know I have to ask if you’ve seen his films.”

RED ALERT!  MAN THE TORPEDOES!”

      “Really, John.  What do you think?”

There, an excellent example of a non-answer.  Those taking notes should underline this with a heavy mark.

      “I don’t know!  You said you knew who he was, so…”

      “I also know who are certain athletes, despite having an interest level of -50 for the sports in which they participate.”

And the score remains a pristine 100% for this particular assessment.  Truly, dodging a topic was something for which he was unparalleled.

      “True, but you must have taken a deeper look once he found himself here.  Out of curiosity, if nothing else.”

One has no curiosity about that which one is already the world’s reigning expert, silly man.

      “Gregory’s profession is merely tangential to the situation, so I have no need to peer further into it.”

Perhaps that was a small untruth, however, the impact on the overall question-dodging score can be no more than 3%, at best.  Mycroft Holmes was still top of the class.

      “But… you must _want_ to know.  Let me tell you this for free… you won’t be sorry.”

Pardon?

      “Pardon?”

      “Look, this can’t reach Sherlock’s ears because… well, because I think he still worries, now and again, that I’ll find someone less… Sherlock-y… and be on my merry way.  If he knew that Greg was a porn star and I’d seen his films, contentedly, at that, he’d probably go into either a power sulk or a dithering insecurity frenzy and there’d be no living with him.  But, trust me, Mycroft… it’s worth it.  Greg’s… fuck me, but he’s amazing.  Some people in those films are basically just naked bodies milling about, but Greg… he’s someone who really _performed_ his role and was mind-strippingly erotic about it, at that.”

You will stop speaking immediately.  You will _not_ sit there and reflect upon Gregory’s majestic nudity and the caliber of his sensuality.  This I do decree.

      “Oh, I see.”

      “You _should_ see!  And that voice of his… does things to a man, especially when he’s making it purposefully rough and filthy.”

You are not to lust after my Gregory!  No! NO NO NO NO NO NO!

      “I… I have not had occasion to notice.”

      “I expect not, since he’s here being a good houseguest and, it seems, a surprisingly normal chap, but… he says he doesn’t do it often anymore, but… go and see him dance, if you can.  Really, you’ll thank me.  The things he can do with his body…”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

      “You… you have experienced his dancing career?”

      “Oh yeah.  More than I let him realize, too.  My god, he was genius.  Pure sex on stage and he knew it, which made the whole business even sexier…”

John is infatuated with my infatuation.  This is intolerable!  And dashed unfair!

      “… now, with that hair… I may have to keep ears to the ground for when he’s scheduled again to perform and sneak out to see the show.  Actually, he could probably get me in for free, which is good because the drinks in places like that are murder on the wages.  Oh, got something in your throat?  Here, let me pour you a little water.”

That was a growl, small doctor.  You will not, under any circumstances, view Gregory’s unclothed splendor and that is simply the end of that.  Your eyes are in no manner worthy of his unbridled sexuality and the perfection of his naked form.  Choose your actions carefully, easily locatable person, for my response, should you choose incorrectly, will be swift and without mercy.

      “Thank you.  A mote of dust, I believe.  Be aware, John, that Sherlock will certainly notice upon you various clues as to your whereabouts the moment you return to Baker Street and that would surely send him into something of a tizzy.”

      “Yeah, that _is_ true, isn’t it?   He’d smell the spray of hormones and pure libido all over me from the scads of horny blokes wishing the person on stage would choose them for a little special attention and I’d be done for.  Good advice.”

They all will die.  Nerve gas would be quickest and most efficient, however, Gregory would he highly distressed should any of his fellow performers suffer the effects.  The vector would have to be patron-specific… the alcohol supply, perhaps?  Infusing the fabrics of the seats with a respiratory paralytic?  The matter would receive his urgent and utmost attention…

      “I am delighted to be of use.  Now, if we might…”

      “Ta dah!  Breakfast!”

Gregory, I was in the middle of protecting your honor.  Could you not have waited until a more opportune time to… oh my…

      “Gregory, from where did you find flowers?”

A few daffodils stood proudly in a tall water glass that was substituting for a vase.

      “Your courtyard.”

      “Oh, are they in bloom?”

      “Didn’t you know?”

      “I… I am not often able to partake of its tranquility.”

      “Well, that needs to change!  It’s terrific out there and not a soul can see in unless their helicoptering overhead, so it should be safe for me to show my face out among the plants and insects.  Once you can walk a bit, we can enjoy some fresh air with our toast, which you should be getting on to now before it gets cold.”

      “Yes, mother.”

Your laughter is duly noted, John, and is being added to your list of grievous offenses against my mental tranquility, with a special notation appended that you are a cur.  Gregory has presented me with flowers and your mocking chortle is not appreciated in the slightest.

      “That looks great!  Guess Mycroft wasn’t lying about your liking to cook.”

      “I adore it.  You and Sherlock will have to pop in one night for dinner once Mycroft’s able to sit up a bit better.  Want to help me do some propping so His Majesty can enjoy his lovely breakfast?”

John stood, curtsied, then worked with Greg to get Mycroft propped up and comfortable in bed before the patient was presented with his tray, which, again, brought a smile to Mycroft’s lips as he gazed at the jaunty daffodils brightening his meal.  Something that Greg took happy notice of and made himself a mental promise to see Mycroft had flowers more than this single time, if it put that much light in his gorgeous eyes…

      “Well, it looks like you’ve got this under control, Greg, so I’ll see myself out.  I’ll be back tomorrow, but don’t hesitate to phone if you have any questions or concerns.”

After stealing a wedge of toast, John made his retreat, leaving the housemates alone to make a pleasanter start to the morning.

      “If it’s too much, Mycroft, just eat what you’re able.  No use getting an upset stomach because you’re being frugal and feel the need to clean your plate.”

      “Thank you, Gregory, but I believe I can manage this small portion.  And… oh yes, you _did_ prepare my standard morning tea.”

      “You’ve got enough suffering right now to compound it with something disappointing and weak.  Manly and strong, that’s the ticket for putting some health back into you.”

And, if you’re wondering if I’d volunteer for that duty myself, wonder no more!  The answer is yes, so please direct all manly and strong requests to the person helping you pour your tea and nudging you to get a little toast into you, too.  Manly and strong accompanies breakfast and flowers very nicely, don’t you think, so I’ll be right here waiting for any signal you might want to toss my way that you see the logic of my reasoning.  Not that any logic was involved, per se, but I’ll be on alert, anyway.  Hate to miss a twinkle in the eye while I’m wiping toast crumbs off my lap…


	15. Chapter 15

With breakfast sorted, Greg provided Mycroft with his mobile, valise and laptop but, to Mycroft’s consternation, refused to leave the bedroom, insisting, instead, on remaining so Mycroft’s delicate health could be monitored as closely as possible.

      “Gregory, I am not dying.”

      “Not yet, but why tempt fate?”

      “Why do you not go and make use of the fitness room?”

      “I’ll stay plenty fit keeping you from dying.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Can’t hear you, because I’m reading.”

      “There is no correlation between reading and the sense of hearing.”

      “Says you.  I beg to differ.”

      “That you responded undercuts your position.”

      “Got to the end of a sentence.  Ears turned on again.”

This was the special hell reserved for those who disappointed their mothers with a lack of grandchildren, wasn’t it?  Mummy said such would happen and lo, her curse was now being laid upon him from beyond the grave.

      “I have a wealth of work to accomplish…”

      “And I’m not stopping you.  As long as you don’t get over-stressed or agitated, you’re free to work as much as you’d like in between health checks, beverage and meal breaks, naps and whatever else you need today to stay healthy.”

      “The work I do is of a highly confidential nature!”

      “First, besides my daffodil escapes, I’m not in a position to run off to share any of your precious state secrets and second, I don’t care about them anyway.  I’m simply going to be over here with my book, but, if it makes you happy, I can watch or listen to something to with headphones so I can’t hear your murmured clandestine whatnot, but _will_ hear when you need me for something.  Can you set me up like that?”

Practical, strong-willed and clever… why can you not remain simply a sexual deity?  Is it too much to ask for you to evince no personality or force of character?  A large swath of humanity does just that on a daily basis, so why must you be difficult and swim against the current?

      “In the cabinet beneath the television are wireless headphones.  They should be charged and ready for use, either for the music system or for the television itself.”

      “Remote?”

You would ask for that, wouldn’t you, fiendish creature… fortunately, it is accessible with minimal motion in the nightstand.  And, with a few quick taps, certain features are happily disabled.

      “I trust you will not require my instruction on how to operate the device.”

Given you are Mr. Gregory Technology, reigning monarch of the Electromagnetic Kingdom.

      “I think I can fathom it out.  Ooh, but the buttons are small.  Got any…”

Oh yes, do rummage through my nightstand which, fortunately, is not concealing any scandalous secrets to sell to the tabloids.

      “… yeah, thought you might.”

Greg popped the discovered pair of reading glasses on his nose and Mycroft suffered a highly-unexpected, given his pain medication, surge of lust seeing the presentation laid out before him.  Gregory appeared much as a mature academician and that, apparently, was a look his libido found profoundly appealing.

      “I admit I was missing my pair at home, what with having to hold my scripts and books a league away from my face, but I suspected you might have a pair lurking about.  Old eyes are old eyes, no matter whose head they’re in.”

      “Y…Yes, I suppose so.”

      “If you need them, just give my leg a tap and I’ll hand them over.  Be like a night out with your mates when you’ve gotten to _that_ age and you’re passing a pair around so everyone can read the menu.”

Not that Mycroft had experience with that sort of thing, but there had been a few meetings where furtive passing back and forth of reading glasses under a conference table was actually the highlight of the gathering.

      “If required, I shall.  But really, Gregory, this is not necessary.”

      “Reading!”

Mycroft huffed loudly, but decided that his personal gargoyle had returned to stone and would be completely immovable from this point forward, so continuing to pour vowels into his granite-y ears would be a poor use of his limited energy.  And, despite his pride-inspired protestations, there was little doubt his energy reserves were low and a nap loomed large on his horizon.  Best make hay while the sun shone and tend to the most time-sensitive matters now.  With the first yawn, it was a certainty the gargoyle would resurrect and snatch his mobile away in its sharp, ebony-hued talons…

__________

That was soothing.  Whatever it was… fingers?  Stroking his hair?  All dreams should be this pleasant… though, perhaps, it was time to move from dreams back to reality, dreary though that be…

      “Look who’s awake!  Here, let me get your water.”

Asking how Gregory knew he was thirsty was a question that simply did need to be raised.  The man seemed to have some form of psychic awareness for those sorts of things.

      “Lovely, thank you.  How long have I been asleep?”

      “Three hours, which is good with the morning you had.”

Yes, that was true.  Apparently, news of his tragic fate did not seem to engender any compassion in the vaunted halls of government and… well, he had learned that Gregory’s patent-pending leg patting was a very effective calming mechanism when he was preparing to order a deportation or beheading.

      “I admit it was somewhat more tiring than I had anticipated.”

      “That’s what tends to happen, unfortunately.  Now, time for that thing you hate?”

Villain.  Your correctness does not negate the darkness of your heart.

      “Yes, to my everlasting agony.”

      “Won’t be in agony anymore once you’ve had a nice piss.  Other end need tending yet?”

      “GREGORY!”

      “What!  Can’t be bashful about something like that!  It’s not like you’re the only one in the universe who needs a crap.  Got to be regular for good health, you know.  Another benefit of my good friend coffee.  Keeps the plumbing working properly even if it’s been few days of too much processed food and too little water.”

Was this a conversation normal people shared or was Gregory simply the most unvarnished of the breed?

      “That particular need is not pressing at the moment.”

      “Ok, but tell me when it is.  I’m ready for that, too.  Got the proper equipment at the ready and don’t worry that I’m squeamish, because I’m not.  You might not think about it, but we have to deal with this particular issue all the fucking time what with the number of anal sex scenes we film.  A good enema will clean you out, but you may need several to…”

      “YES!  Yes, thank you, Gregory, for your highly informative lecture.”

And for forever putting that particular bit of horror into my mind.

      “Yeah, that’s not something people enjoy thinking about with the work I do.  Like I said, it’s _work_ and you do what you have to do to make what people see in the finished product something worthwhile.  All sorts of things happen, too, that you don’t think of… they do their best to keep the floor clear, but step on a stray patch of lube or a plug that’s been forgotten and down you go.  Sprains, strains and even breaks from the crazy positions we get into and what happens when those positions collapse.  Allergies to just about everything we work with, condom burn… that’s a misery when you’re a few hours into a shoot and you’ve just been anxious to get everything finished and haven’t stopped often enough to lube up.  That’s truly balls for the ladies.  Shaving!  Want to know what nicks on your bollocks or in your arse crack feel like?  No, no you don’t.  It’s an unhappy thing.”

Every day he was finding new levels of hell into which to descend and Mycroft genuinely began to fear what he’d find if he ever got to the lowest possible level.  Surely it would defy the imagination of even the most overwrought and absinthe-sodden writer of supernatural fiction.

      “Then I pray I am never required to suffer such a thing.”

      “Don’t see why you would.  I mean, you’ve got a nice hairy chest, but your pubic hair’s just right, I think, for what you’re sporting down there and I didn’t notice your arse being particularly hairy.  I know some people like themselves and their lovers to be fairly extensively groomed, but I’ve never seen the benefit.  That being said, sucking cock is a much easier thing when there’s not hair tickling your nose or coming loose and going into your throat.  Sneezing or coughing with someone’s chap in your mouth comes with its own hazards, as you can probably imagine.

Help.

      “This… this is certainly the day for education.”

      “Good!  Always happy to let people know what the job’s really like.  It helps them take us more seriously, I think.  We’re not a pack of horny reprobates filming a shag with the hook-up we just grabbed from a club or something.  Being on set is, in some ways, the least sexy thing you’d ever want to see and… there’s really no comparison to the real thing.  You’d think there would be, but having _real_ sex with someone you’re attracted to or care about… it’s a completely different beast, though I know that’s punishingly hard for people to understand.”

Mycroft’s internals were still in an uproar, but… he did feel something new and rather shameful hearing Greg’s words.  He had never given the slightest thought to the reality behind the films he voraciously consumed and, just perhaps, believed them to be a touch as described – sexually-hungry individuals satisfying their own needs and wants while a video camera recorded the events.  Again the ship of mystical allure takes a cannonball to the hull. 

      “I must confess it is not something for which I have devoted any degree of thought.”

True and false at the same time, so his personal integrity suffered neither a black mark or enjoyed a gold star.

      “I wouldn’t expect you to.  I don’t think anyone, really, gives much thought what goes on day in and day out for any person’s job.  Cops, nurses, barristers… we think about them when we immediately need them, but it doesn’t go beyond that.  That’s why those career day things at school need to happen more often.  Give the kiddies the chance to really know a job so they can decide it its right for them before they go too far down the road.”

Gregory Lestrange at a school career day… that would surely usher in the Apocalypse.  That being said, if the world truly became primed to self-destruct, it might be an option to consider for seeing the deed done swiftly and with laudable efficiency.

      “Anyway, let me help you sit up a little and get your piss bottle.  After that, how about some soup?  I got a little going while you were sleeping and it should be very nourishing, though easy on the stomach.”

Conversations with Gregory were nothing if not a dissonant tangle of topics that, somehow, the man found perfectly normal.  However, given the _highly_ diverse nature of those topics, it could never be said that their discourse was anything other than lively, though wildly discombobulating, at times.

      “That sounds delightful.”

      “Alright, then.  A quick piss, a spot of lunch, then… watch a film?  I’d suggest chess, but our games tend to go awhile and I know you wouldn’t want to fall asleep right in the middle.”

      “I believe I might remain awake sufficiently long for a match.”

      “Chess it is, then!  Nice and quiet, which is perfect for you right now.  Ready to sit up?”

      “I suppose I must.”

      “Not if you just let me handle this myself.”

      “Begin the erection protocol.”

While I ignore, like a champion, the words I just uttered.  And you can immediately keep your gleaming, knowing grin to yourself…

__________

Dishes washed – check.  Remaining soup in the refrigerator – check.  Mycroft entertained – check.  Mycroft napped a second time – check.  Now, time for the real fun… and by fun, he meant all-out war…

      “How’re you doing, Mycroft?  Had a good nap?”

      “I would say so, yes.  How… did John provide an indication when he would lower my pain medication?”

      “No, but I’ll suspect he’ll do it as soon as it’s warranted.  Right now, enjoy the help because the less stress your body’s under the more it can concentrate on healing.”

      “True, but I am not content with the mental effects.”

      “Bit of fog?  I haven’t really noticed, but you’re a better judge of that I would be.  Consider that another benefit of being home for a few days.  Not putting your fogginess out there for all your minions to see.”

There was truth to that for his mental faculties were a very significant component of the persona he affected and which his various functionaries had learned to respect or, at least, fear, which was just as effective.

      “As you say.  Now, however, I do believe I should again make a few inquiries concerning certain matters, so if you could hand me my mobile…”

      “How about we use this time for something else, instead?”

Gregory was smiling as one did to soften the blow as one delivered unsettling news.  This did not bode well.

      “Oh?  Your suggestion being?”

      “Time for a bath.”

NOT BODING WELL CONFIRMED!  BODING INCREDIBLY, INCREDIBLY POORLY IN POINT OF FACT!

      “Gregory, that… that is certainly not necessary…”

      “No, I think it is.  You got a nice wash yesterday, but you’re the type who normally takes two showers a day, I wager.  You’re already feeling a touch poorly from not seeing a wash this morning, most likely, so let’s see you clean and fresh tonight and turn that feeling around to something pleasant.”

      “I… how do you know I prefer to shower twice a day?”

      “Because you’re a fastidious bloke, and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, but it’s evident, you appreciate being elegant and proper in how you look and you can’t do that when you’re a bit sticky from the day’s or night’s sweat.  Besides, I know how fucking marvelous a shower feels when you’ve had a long night and a hard day on top of it, so it stands to reason, you like one before work _and_ when you get home.”

      “Be… be that as it may, this is an entirely different situation and…”

      “Which is why it’s more important now than ever.  There’s a mental component to being clean, you know?  You just feel better and you need that.  So, how about a nice gentle wash and some fresh pyjamas?  It’s not like I haven’t seen everything you have, so there’s nothing to be shy about.”

WAS THE MAN MAD?  WERE HIS PSYCHIC FACULTIES ONLY GOOD FOR WATER?  HOW WAS THAT HELPFUL?  READ MY MIND YOU INCUBUS AND FLEE IN TERROR!

      “I have… I have already burdened you sufficiently for today and…”

      “What burden?  This has been an incredibly easy couple of days, from the work and effort standpoint.  And, I want to, truth be told.  I know it’s going to make you a lot happier and that’s important to me.  Keep you fed, clean, entertained… it’s the very, very least I can do and not only because it’s my fucking fault you’re in this bed.  You’re a good person, Mycroft and you deserve good treatment.”

Him?  A good person?  There was a queue of individuals ten leagues long who would be happy to refute that assessment.  Gregory, however, did not seem to be among them and that was… heartening.  Good heavens, BUTTONS WERE BEING UNDONE!

      “Gregory!”

      “Thought I’d take advantage of your thinking to get things started.  If you’re really bothered now about my giving your happy parts a wash, we can skip that tonight, but I _will_ do it tomorrow because no man is content when his bits are starting to feel, and smell, a bit… fermented.”

No no no no no… this could not occur… not even his pain medication would be able to hold back his response if Gregory’s hands were running over his skin…

      “I am not precisely at that point, Gregory, so let us simply bypass this discussion, shall we?”

Oh dear… he is contemplating me.  THE BODING IS INTENSIFYING!

      “I know, Mycroft.  If that’s what’s worrying you, I mean.”

Know?  What… what could Gregory possibly know that would impinge upon… oh… _oh_ , this was dire…

      “I have… no idea what you are describing.”

      “Yeah, you do.  I know you like men.  I don’t know if that’s exclusive or if you’re broader in taste, but, I _do_ know.”

One bag was now devoid of cat, it appeared.  Wonderful.  Absolutely bloody wonderful… was there a national anthem for Hell?  If so, could a passing demon provide him a copy of the relevant lyrics?

      “I… I see.  Sherlock, I suppose.”

      “No, the hard-on you sported after my stupidity when I was blocking out that scene from my script.  You couldn’t keep something like that a secret, Mycroft, what with your cock a few inches from my face.”

Mycroft rarely found himself speechless and had never found it a joyful experience when he did.  This was no exception.

      “So, I know you might be concerned about how you’ll react when someone as handsome and sexy as me is running hands all over you, but, first, you’re too medicated to have your cock stand up and salute and, second, I wouldn’t care if it did.  In fact, I’d be a bit insulted if it didn’t!  But, none of that is really the issue since I won’t be sexing you up and that’s because, first… first, I’ve got to stop making fucking lists, but back to the original first, I don’t sex up people who haven’t asked for it and, second, this is only about your well-being.  Besides, anything else is off the table until you’re in better health.  So… can I get started?”

Mycroft’s speechlessness continued as he processed Greg’s words and got caught in a tailspin over the phrase ‘off the table until.’  While his brain ran itself in circles and Greg pushed through his own moment of reflection about how much he might have revealed with his idiotic speech, two strong hands finished unbuttoning Mycroft’s pyjama top and began the delicate job of removing it completely from the patient’s body, given the IV running into his arm.  Take care of the man in bed…  just a lovely thing to keep the mind focused away from any other topics, and Mycroft seemed to think so, too, what with being polite and not commenting on anything that really didn’t need to be commented on right now.  Actually, Mycroft looked a little dazed at the moment, but that might just be sleepiness.  Or anticipation!  Yes, he was anticipating a freshening wash, and cool, clean pyjamas.  That was it.  If it wasn’t, too bad, because, now, it was officially it and that was the end of it.  Fucking it’s!  Haunting him like lists!

Oh fuck, things could get a little awkward…


	16. Chapter 16

Through an unspoken, non-negotiated agreement, the two men blissfully ignored any statements that Greg might have made regarding ‘until’ and went about the business of achieving an equilibrium that satisfied Greg’s need to provide Mycroft with the quality of care he felt necessary and Mycroft’s need to maintain mental competency and stay productive with his work.  Not that equilibrium mean tranquility, of course, and a flung spoonful of custard may have made an appearance… or two… but no blood was shed and no erection-inspired emotional meltdowns occurred to send the household into a cataclysmic downfall.

Of course, the arrival of Sherlock put the possibility of cataclysm back at the top of the scale, but for his own special reasons.

      “Absolutely not.  I will not award you a farthing of money for a such a thing.”

      “Intolerable!  You are a jagged-edge pothole in the path of science!”

      “Under no circumstance am I funding both land and materials for you to establish your own body farm!”

      “Research!  The experimental possibilities are legion!”

Greg looked over the top of Mycroft’s reading glasses and tried not to grin at the brothers’ bickering.  This was going on twenty minutes and showed absolutely no signs of stopping.  You couldn’t buy this type of entertainment and he was being very quiet so as not break the flow of the action.

      “Gregory!  Perhaps you can make Sherlock see reason.”

Alright, wading in for some breakage.

      “How much are bodies going for at market today, lad?”

      “What?  You are as inane as Mycroft.”

      “No, hear me out.  If you’re going to be growing bodies, Mycroft’s got a point if they’re not fetching a decent price right now.  Got to think about profit, Sherlock.  Farms are hard work and run, from what I understand, on fairly tight margins, so if the cost of feed, water, fertilizer and whatnot for your bodies can’t be properly offset by a good market price, then you might consider cabbages or turnips, instead.”

Sherlock’s frustrated hiss was counterbalanced by Mycroft’s small bark of laughter and tapping Greg’s knee to award victory for this round of combat.

      “You are a spectacularly well-matched pair.  Mycroft is fat and officious, you are fat-headed and immature.  Verily, a cornucopia of detriments under a single roof.”

Neither Mycroft nor Greg would admit to surreptitiously cutting eyes towards the other or noticing the surreptitiously-cut eyes of the other because of reasons concerning equilibrium, thank you very much.

      “Glad we’re good for something, though funding your agricultural career doesn’t seem to be on the agenda today.  Why don’t you ask your brother for a few quid for sweets or a new football like other little brothers?  You’ll probably get that.”

      “If either benefitted my research, I would.”

      “Oh well, then.  Back to my book.”

Sherlock snorted loudly and Mycroft smothered a smile.  Sherlock had long learned to ignore _his_ arguments and chastisements, but had not yet erected strategies to combat this new direction of challenge.  It was simply a delight to behold…

      “How am I to conduct my experiment!”

      “Which is, brother dear?”

      “I need to know the details of the decay process of a human brain, while encased in the skull, when exposed to a highly-alkaline soil.”

The older pair shared, this time, an openly-acknowledged look which stated very clearly that Sherlock was a special person and that specialness, in no manner, was a bad thing provided the general public could be shielded from the fallout.

      “That sounds interesting.  One of your detectivey things?”

      “Ugh… yes, Lestrange, one of my ‘detectivey’ things.  Dimmock is a notable dullwit and he is currently butchering a case to the point where it is highly probable the murderer will fail to meet justice if I do not intercede.”

A very unexpected, yet helpful, result of Gregory’s extremely unflappable nature for topics outside the norm, in Mycroft’s opinion, was his utter lack of shock or offense at anything Sherlock had so far thrust forward in conversation.  The man simply took Sherlock’s nonsense in stride and that put him as a member of a very rarified group of people…

      “I wager your brother here could get a dead sheep or pig for you and maybe one of those big shipping containers for you to use to set up your test.  Find a nice place, like dockside, where it already stinks of rotting fish and the foul things you find in certain sections of the Thames, so you won’t be offending any noses that aren’t already filled to bursting with… offense.  Might even find a real body, if you’re lucky!  Those _do_ wash up now and again, so you might get the chance to grab it before the rozzers snatch it up.”

Sherlock gasp of glee made Greg laugh and he favored the eye-rolling Mycroft with a pat on the shoulder that certainly did not, in any way, skirt the area of a gentle squeeze to the back of the pillow-propped Mycroft’s neck.

      “I DEMAND…”

      “Yes, yes, brother dear… Gregory’s compromise might be a plausible scenario and I shall make the relevant inquiries this very evening.”

      “I will prepare my equipment and supplies list.  You will not delete or amend a single item.”

      “Anything you script that is illegal, contagious or potentially explosive will not be purchased.”

      “You are both irritatingly suspicious and what John would term a killjoy.”

      “Be that as it may, do not forget my conditions as you provide your grocery wants.”

      “Speaking of groceries, Mycroft, could _I_ make a list?  We _are_ getting low on a lot of things.”

Something that pleased the elder Holmes tremendously.  Normally, his grocery orders were both sparse and infrequent, however, with Gregory in residence, they had enjoyed full and diverse meals that very agreeably mixed healthy options with more luscious ones so that… so that he dreaded the day when this was no longer a part of his life.  And no mental energy would be expended, not a single neuron’s worth, on the warming sensation in his core from Gregory’s use of the term ‘we.’

      “Of course, and I shall place it straight away.”

Neither man noticed Sherlock’s narrowed eyes nor the rather worrying pursing of his lips.

      “This behavior is distressingly domestic.  For how long are you planning to imprison Lestrange in your palace of tedium, Mycroft?”

Since pleading either deafness or coma was out of the question, Mycroft coughed slightly to buy a moment to think and cursed that the act did not carry along with it a bolt of divine inspiration.

      “For… exactly as long as is required to ensure his safety.”

      “Which is imperiled how?”

      “That is not your business, Sherlock.”

      “You have both been tellingly vague about this situation and I would know why.”

      “You shall, then, need to learn to live with disappointment, brother dear, for the details are not something I can discuss.”

      “You are dissembling.”

      “No, I am being perfectly honest.”

      “You are, then, being incomplete in your accounting.”

      “Again, no, I am being as informative as possible, given the circumstances.”

      “You _want_ him here.”

Oh dear.

      “For the purposes of safety, yes.”

      “For the purposes of your nonexistent social life.”

Oh dearie dear.

      “Sherlock, stop being a bratty little brother and trying to agitate Mycroft.”

Yes, Gregory, my valiant knight… leap in with your mighty sword and slay this pestiferous dragon…

      “There is nothing bratty about the truth.  Mycroft has the social life of a hermit and the romantic life of a _deceased_ hermit, so my hypothesis is your continued incarceration is his  Machiavellian attempt to gain a partner, willing or unwilling, to share his malodorous cave.”

      “Yeah, completely a nine-year-old brat.  You really don’t want your science supplies, do you?”

      “What!  Our agreement is already cemented!”

      “Nope.  I can and will claim Mycroft’s thinking is impaired what with his medication and sporting a tunnel through his flesh, so your agreement isn’t worth the paper it’s not printed on.  Now, are you going to stop being an arse and get your schoolwork finished or are you losing dinner as well as your dead pig at dockside?”

Sherlock’s ferocious pout, with lack of verbal rebuttal, earned him an approving nod from Lestrange, who made a little ‘keep writing’ motion with his finger to show Sherlock he had chosen smartly.  Apparently, Mycroft happily conceded, _this_ Holmes was not the only one affected by Gregory’s use of a commanding and dominant tone.  Fortunately, Sherlock’s response was described in an entirely different manner than his own, for which the terms sexually-entranced and yearning would have to be used.  Having to fend off Doctor Watson, as well as his brother, as competitors for Gregory’s attention, theoretical and fantasized as it might be, was far too much for a bedridden person to manage.

      “And might I ask, Gregory, with what we are to be gifted tonight from our kitchen?”

Do notice the manner in which I deftly counter your ‘we’ with my ‘our’ to satisfy cohabitive symmetry.  Verily the scales are precisely balanced.

      “The last of the pork and lots of healthy veggies with a toe-curling sauce, all stir-fried up over rice.”

      “I demand there be no peas!”

      “Mycroft?  You support Sherlock’s anti-pea agenda?”

      “Fresh, crisp sugar snaps or comparable are most delicious in the sort of dish you enticingly described, however, I believe Sherlock’s abject terror at the thought of finding a flaccid, mealy pea on his plate will earn by backing.”

      “No flaccidity in the food – got it!  Might as well make it a party and invite John, since he’s sitting home alone and overjoyed, I mean, lonely with Sherlock being here with us.”

Sherlock pressed his just-finished list directly into Greg’s face and screeched when the list disappeared into Greg’s mouth, to be chewed, with much visible tongue action and, eventually, swallowed.

      “Thanks!  Always can use a little extra fiber in my diet.”

      “Your pet is deranged, Mycroft.”

Hoping his response was not needed, Mycroft did his best to calm his heart rate, because the taunting, arrogantly-confident look on Greg’s face as he put Sherlock in his place was likely illegal in the more puritanical jurisdictions of the world.

      “Go and phone your John, lad, then make a fresh start on that list of yours.  While you’re at it, bring me a lager.  That should pair well with your paper and ink.”

Sherlock showed his teeth like an agitated terrier, but darted out of the room and the older men politely waited until he was gone to start laughing, though Mycroft’s took a moment to get started as he cleared the residual arousal from his mind.

      “Never a dull moment, right Mycroft?  Must have been a joy when he was young.”

      “A veritable nightmare of Lovecraftian proportions.”

      “I can imagine.  I’ve had my fair share of experiences with balls of energy and it’s amazing what goes through their heads.  The clever, curious ones are the real devils, too.  Add in determination and you go through a LOT of alcohol.”

      “I will confess to an ardent friendship with our parent’s spirits cabinet, especially Father’s whisky, which was the treatment for many Sherlock-inspired headaches.”

      “Speaking of, headaches or otherwise, how are you feeling?  Think you’re alright for a dinner party tonight?”

Always concerned, ever solicitous…

      “I _am_ slightly fatigued, but in no manner sufficient to warrant cancelling the opportunity.  Besides, as a doctor shall be a guest, I feel confident any health-reducing issues shall be both noted and attended to promptly.”

      “Plus, I’ll be there.”

      “My personal protector.  How could I forget?”

Mycroft secretly adored Greg’s proud smile and Greg secretly adored Mycroft’s indulgent smile in return and both wondered how far from their daydream mark the smile they were viewing fell.  Was it foolish to hope the small ‘until’ of the previous night might be a… chance.  It was ridiculous, perhaps, but maybe not quite as ridiculous as it had been the night they met.  And, for men their age, an honest chance was not something to walk past without a little further exploration…

__________

And exploration was certainly on Mycroft’s mind once their dinner was completed and their guests had been sent home will full stomachs.  While a headphone-sporting Greg watched a film so a rejuvenated Mycroft could tend to matters of work, Mycroft took some time to reflect on the situation and what he wanted from it.

‘Wanted’ being the trickiest of terms… what he _wanted_ was plentiful and unutterably filthy.  To fall into Gregory’s arms for the most varied and prolonged sexual abandon.  To feel the man’s body against his and glory in his strength.  To be whatever Gregory wanted for his own pleasure for the reward to be reaped would be indescribable.  To experience all of the fantasies he had born in his breast for decades of time.

However, he had, of late, been exposed to a new set of wants that were becoming equally as powerful.  To share laughter and engaging conversation.  To be challenged intellectually and emotionally by new ideas.  To enjoy expanses of time where neither spoke a word but experienced an indefinable sense of connection.  To cooperate, argue, smile and have it end with that connection still demonstrably intact.  To feel… supported.  Appreciated.  Valued.

 _Gerard_ had certainly given way to _Gregory_ and… it was, ultimately, a welcome thing.  Gerard was incomparable as a source of sexual fantasy and a mechanism to soothe the anxieties that had always plagued him.  For Gregory… for Gregory, the first, unquestionably, remained intact.  As for the second, he had actually experienced less anxiety in his day with Gregory present than when he went through his days alone.  Admittedly, his days had been greatly altered from their norm of late, but that support, that person who accepted and believed that he was not an unwaveringly perfect man, which, oddly, was a profound comfort, had prompted a substantial sense of relief.

And… Gregory was real.  Real and here.  Real, here and… accessible.  The man could have taken a reserved or standoffish approach to his situation but, instead, took this home as his own.  Actually, he had done more to promote the feeling of ‘home’ than had anything or anyone hosted under this roof, something that was entirely unexpected, but it was a feeling one solitary Holmes was beginning to crave.  Sherlock’s rantings were nonsense, of course, for he was not a hermit, romantically or otherwise, but… this was very, very different from other experiences and…

…he did not want to let it go.

      “Still doing alright, Mycroft?”

Perhaps, somewhat better than previously, in point of fact.

      “I am, actually.”

      “Got a pizza stone?”

      “Wha… Gregory, you are the emperor of non-sequiturs.”

      “One of my many skills.  So, do you?”

      “I do not believe so, no.”

      “Can I add that to the grocery list?”

      “Why?”

      “I think the name is a handy clue.”

      “Ah… you want to make pizza?”

      “Yes!  This is a brilliant telly and what goes better with a great film or match than pizza!  Of course, we could just order delivery, but you’d probably squawk about too many delivery people seeing my gorgeous face, so I can just make it, instead.  Oh, we’ll need popcorn, too.  And lager.  I’ll drink your share so you don’t feel left out.”

Did _not_ want to let it go…

      “Do add to your list anything you feel will make your culinary or entertainment experience a more enjoyable one and it will be acquired with utmost haste.”

      “Thanks!  I can pay for some, or all, of it if you’d like.  Use my bank card or…”

      “We cannot be certain your bank records are not being monitored.”

      “Fuck a duck.  Oh well, I’ll have to continue to live off your largesse.”

      “My largesse and the local duck populations are happy with the situation, so fear not about that.  Actually, there _is_ some information on your situation, if you would care to hear it.”

Not that he should divulge even a snippet, but security had been tossed in the bin some time ago and, given the lack of locust plagues, it did not appear to be an entirely unwise decision.

      “I would!  Anything to see this mess cleaned up and get some justice for Kevin.”

      “Well, do not grow too excited, for there is not a great deal of further progress, however, they obtained the bullet that shot me and have cross-referenced it with various known individuals who are theoretically capable of making that particular shot.  The list is not extensive, however, it _will_ take us some amount of time to locate them, let alone attempt an interrogation.  However, it _is_ certainly more than we had previous to today.  We are currently, also, doing what we can to discover ties between any of these individuals and members of Marcus Drake’s network, as well as those of his most notable rivals.  Unsurprisingly, the arms arena is in somewhat of an uproar at the moment, and that might loosen some tongues, if the tongue-owners believe a bit of shared information might enhance their own chances to move upwards on the proverbial ladder.”

      “That sounds good.  Can I see the list?”

      “Why?”

      “I dunno.  Maybe I recognize someone.  My industry gets a lot of highly interesting types milling about and someone might strike a chord.  Pictures would help, too.”

Mycroft debated, but decided Greg’s reasoning wasn’t fatally flawed and quickly tapped a few keys on his laptop to call up the relevant information, which he passed over for inspection.

      “Hmmmmmm…. this one here, the Finnish bloke.  I can’t say for certain and I could be totally wrong, but he seems familiar.  Like I’ve seen him at one of those parties the money types throw and they hire a few of us to come in and mingle with the guests.  Is he good?”

      “Very, actually.”

      “Well, that’s all I’ve got.  The others don’t light any bulbs in the brain.”

      “I shall duly make note, as well as of your uncertainty.  The gentleman does have one of _those_ faces, does he not?  The type that blends in easily, but that is rather common with the nefarious breed.  It is not to their benefit to be strikingly notable and, therefore, easily describable and identifiable.  That being said, I feel confident we can gain some information on all members of this list in a scant few days and I am hopeful that will prove productive towards our ends.”

      “Good!  Now, are you done for the night?  Your eyelids look like they weigh about ten tons.”

Mycroft smiled and wondered if anything would ever slip by his nurse.  He had thought he had given an award-winning portrayal of wakefulness.

      “I do believe it is time for a spot of rest.”

      “A _long_ night’s rest, you mean.  Here, you do your logging out and I’ll get you a little water to sip.  Happy your IV may come out tomorrow?”

      “Ecstatic.”

      “Me, too.  I don’t know why, but I just don’t like the way those things look.  Make people seem so tragic and pained, even if they’re just getting a bit of fluid after too much sun.”

Smiling broadly, Greg took the moment to refill Mycroft’s water and set aside the laptop so his patient could have a drink and start the process of laying down for the night.  It was good, really, that they’d got themselves a list of suspects, at least for Mycroft’s shooting and maybe the one at the hotel, but it wasn’t enough.  And it wasn’t the straight direction to who was responsible for all of his misery.  Going in unhelpful directions and at a crawly pace just didn’t sit well, given this was the government doing the work.  Or maybe that’s why this was crawly and slow – it _was_ the government doing the work!

Yeah, time to take a little action of his own.  First, get a different mobile, one Mycroft didn’t have a leash on.  That would be tricky and maybe a bit dangerous, but it wasn’t impossible.  Then, set out a few lines that might be more productive than the official government ones.  You _did_ meet a lot of different people in his business and they were more likely to talk to a chap like him than a drone in a suit.  Quite a few owed him favors, too.  Hopefully, if he was lucky, his lines would catch some tasty fish.  Tasty and ‘keep your fucking trap shut about this, you fucking arsehole’ fish.  Speaking of fish, better add that to the grocery list.  He had a great recipe for sole that Mycroft would adore and what the adorable man in the striped pyjamas adored, the adorable man in the striped pyjamas should have…


	17. Chapter 17

      “Think about this Mycroft… no IV means you’ve got to rely on pills and that’s not as consistent for pain.”

      “Out.”

      “You usually use a lot more words than that, so I have to think you’re reconsidering.”

      “I will have you executed, John, if you do not remove this dastardly thing.”

      “Well, then.  That’s fairly clear and concise.  Just a moment…”

John worked quickly and efficiently to remove the IV from Mycroft’s hand and gave the site a quick inspection before sighing and making a ‘there you go’ motion.

      “Excellent.  I find such impediments simply maddening.”

      “They’re not fun, that’s true, but useful, so I think I’ll keep using them when they’re needed.  Just as you’ll keep using that bed.  I mean it, Mycroft, I want you off your feet for another day or so.  After that, it’s only brief walks in the house.  You’re healing well and I don’t want that to change.”

      “Whereas I will grant my own opinion on the subject might be slightly different that yours, your ally prepares my meals and he is a petulant and spiteful individual.”

      “Yeah, Greg’s a complete bastard.  You know…”

If you make mention of Gregory’s bountiful glory again, John, prepare to spend the remainder of eternity staring at the world through the bars of a forgotten prison in a region where the temperature has never seen a value greater than zero in the history of the universe.

      “Is this again a declaration of admiration for Gregory’s physicality?”

Remember the prison, John.  You have not sufficient jumpers to make the experience a tolerable one.

      “No!  No, it’s just… Sherlock thinks you might… seeing Greg and all…”

This turn could actually be worse than the original predicted destination.  I shall keep prison on the table, so tread lightly or make haste growing a warming beard.

      “Yes?”

      “Sherlock thinks you may have found a friend.”

Well, that stayed handily on the acceptable side of catastrophic.  Nicely done, John.  And highly intriguing…

      “Does he?  Interesting, since he knows I was verified as allergic to such a thing when I was ten years of age.”

      “That was a lie and a shite one, at that.  What’s not a lie, though, is that your brother approves.”

That was highly unexpected.  Sherlock’s approval of anything involving him was a reliable naught, so this was a tremendous shift of pattern.

      “He… he does?”

      “And, by that, of course, I mean he approves in the specific manner of shrieking his disgust every moment after we left here last night until I knocked him over the head with one of those oversized cartoon mallets so he finally went to sleep.  I think he likes Greg and is somewhat fascinated that you do, too.”

      “Hmmmm… that is an interesting notion.”

      “And, by interesting, you mean?”

      “Only that Sherlock would not be averse to another individual in the admittedly small sphere he and I share.”

      “I think he’s shocked, actually, that he’s met another person who doesn’t… well, you know how most people treat Sherlock if they don’t give him a chance to make a second impression.”

Dreadfully.  Sherlock cared more than the world would ever suspect, but that did not necessarily shine brightly upon first meeting his brother.  Too few on this accursed planet were willing to look beyond the surface or extend their hand for just an additional moment to learn what Sherlock might offer besides their gastric upset.

      “Yes, I do.  However, I am not one to question good fortune, so I shall simply enjoy the situation and count my proverbial lucky stars.”

Which, as John noted, had to link back to the concept of Mycroft and friends, meaning Sherlock would get the information he had demanded rather loudly that John ferret out and the good doctor would win possession of the telly remote for a week as his prize.  When it came to negotiation, John Watson went directly for the high-priority items and didn’t stop until victory was achieved.

      “Good, then.  Maybe when whatever it is that’s going on comes to a close, you’ve got someone to meet for a drink after a hard day.  That always does a body good.  Alright, I think I’ll go and bother Greg while he’s having his workout so he drops a weight on his foot or something, which serves him right for being more health-conscious than me.  Promise me you won’t do anything distressing while there aren’t any eyes on you?”

      “Good heavens, John, I am not a child.”

      “Says the man who stuck his tongue out at Greg when he tried to get you to actually put some warm socks on your feet.”

      “They were not cold!”

      “I’ll believe the man who was actually touching them.”

      “Gregory’s skin is much as the surface of the sun.  He could lay hands on a functioning furnace and deem it cold.”

      “Could be worse.  Doctors and nurses always get chided for cold hands, so consider yourself one of the fortunate few.  So, promise?”

      “Very well.  But, if I am let alone for too long a time without diversion, I cannot guarantee my continued good conduct.”

There were times, few and far between, when John had difficulty telling one Holmes brother from the other.  To forestall the peeking out of any additional similarities to Sherlock , John picked up one of Greg’s books and dropped it on Mycroft’s lap.

      “There.  Divert yourself.”

      “I have already read that particular story.”

      “See if the book fairies changed the ending.”

Ignoring his patient’s perfectly Holmesian snort, John quickly gathered his things, waved goodbye and moved towards the second part of the visit.  Checking in on the unpaid nurse and one-half of the potential newly-formed friendship.

Who was making noises that no man not having filthy, likely-illegal sex should never make while he pedaled like a madman on Mycroft’s expensive exercise cycle.  Without a shirt.  And shorts that showcased his muscular, sculpted calves.  And eye-filling arse.  Everything with a glistening sheen of sweat that danced like diamonds on his skin…

      “John!  Come to watch the show?  Not as fun as one of my dance routines, but worth the time, I’d say.”

Stop ogling!  You’re a mature, professional man, for heaven’s sake.  Not unlike the person who was smiling at him with strong, white teeth, though their professions ran along entirely different lines…

      “Funny.  Watch you don’t strain something.  Man your age has to be careful.”

      “Nah, just getting my heart rate up.  And giving the legs a bit of a work.  You’re a doctor, you should appreciate that.”

I _do_ appreciate your legs, Mr. Lestrange, though not in the manner I think you meant.

      “It’s always good to see the elderly keeping active, that is very true.”

      “Bastard.  I should ask, though, is this bad for my knee?  The one I told you about.  Did something evil to it in a football match and it’s never been the same since.”

      “Hmmmm… depends.  Want me to take a look?”

Why did I just say that?  I’ll have to touch him now!  And he’s got hot, glistening skin!

      “Would you?  Hate to be doing myself a mischief when I think I’m actually being smart.”

Greg hopped off the bike and dropped into one of the room’s chairs motioning John towards the knee in question.  Which John approached much like a man approaching a goose.  Sure, it looked harmless, but just watch out.  One false move and you’re face first in its crotch doing things that would make a viral hit on one of those amateur porn sites.  Ok, the goose analogy didn’t really hold up there, but…”

      “John?”

      “Oh, sorry.  Trying to bring some skills to the fore.  It’s been a while since I had to handle orthopedics.”

Clearing his throat and trying to hmmmm as professionally as he could, John knelt to examine Greg’s knee, then maneuvered it a little this way and that to check mobility.  Mycroft was right… that was skin you could melt chocolate on and lick it off…

      “Well?”

      “ACL issue?”

      “Yeah.  Did some cartilage damage, too.”

      “Nasty.  Scars say surgery.”

      “It was balls, too.  I’d just agreed to do two films for a new company looking to get off the ground and had to pull out because I couldn’t work for awhile.  Healed fairly well, I think, but…”

      “Still bothers you.  Not surprising, unfortunately.  Well, the cycling won’t kill you just, as with everything, if anything starts to hurt or you’re experiencing _any_ weakness or instability, stop and have things checked.”

      “I will.  Thanks, John.  How’s Mycroft doing?”

      “Good, actually.  I’m glad he’s listening and getting some rest.  Took his IV out, so that should make him happy.”

      “He’ll be thrilled.  I can understand that, you know.  It’s miserable to be sick or hurt, especially when it’s hard to do much for yourself.  Man like Mycroft doesn’t like to feel dependent on anyone, so the ego takes a rough fucking knock for something like this.  I was lucky I had a little help when my knee went down, though they had much better things to do with their time than sit around all day watching telly with me.  Mycroft deserves that sort of help, but I _will_ admit it’s a blessing he doesn’t watch that horrid daytime rubbish.”

      “You sound happy it’s you giving it to him, too.”

Detective John Watson dives in to begin the grueling interrogation.  Continue inspecting the knee as a diversionary tactic.

      “Why shouldn’t I be?  I know I’m good at this and I know I’m a person I can trust.  I can’t necessarily say that about anyone he might hire to do the job, now can I?”

      “True, but caring for someone is hard work.”

      “Saying I’m afraid of hard work?”

      “No, just saying it’s a job some people are paid to handle and, perhaps, you don’t need to take it all on yourself.”

      “I like it that way.”

      “Being in charge?”

      “Maybe.  When it’s important that a job gets done right.”

      “And this is important to you.”

John tried not to gasp as a large, slightly-rough hand wrapped to cradle his chin and tilt his head upwards.

      “You ask a lot of questions.   Want to tell me why?”

Uh oh.  Greg was glaring.  Which he did rather sexily, actually, but also rather menacingly, which made it all the sexier not that this was helping him answer the question which was… something about words?

      “P…Pardon?”

      “Questions?  What’s with all these questions?”

      “I… no reason.  Doctor makes conversation with patients when he’s giving them a look over.”

      “Try again and, at least, think of something that’s not so obviously a fucking lie.”

Glaring harder!  And grinning!  Oh no… it was one of those angry grins that spelled bad things for the person being grinned at.  Wait.  That was _his_ thing!  Bastard stole… nobody sports a quality rage grin but John Watson of the Fifth North… oh no, he’s starting to squeeze…

      “Nothing!  Really… nothing.”

Squeezing!

      “SHERLOCK!  Sherlock said to find out if you and Mycroft were set to…. I don’t know, be mates or something.  He hates being out of the loop and if he’s going to break in here at some point, which he _will_ because he’s a bastard, he’d rather not be caught off guard by you using the exercise room or watering Mycroft’s plants when he’s in Ruritania or something.”

Freedom!  Sweet, chin-still-on-face freedom!

      “Oh.  Guess that makes sense.  He’s a curious little bugger and he does seem the sort to like to know how things are structured and get upset if that structure gets changed without him knowing it.  Sorry, John.  I guess… I’m still a little on edge with Mycroft’s situation and...yeah, I’m really sorry.”

      “That’s ok, Greg.  If Sherlock was the one in the bed, I’d be careful, too, about someone I didn’t know very well.”

      “Thanks.  Oh, and he did break in here already.  That’s how we met, actually.”

      “WHAT!  He told me… why do I believe anything he says?  It never turns out well.”

      “Keeps life interesting!  So, am I crippled or what?”

Yes, must release knee before the actual doctoring activity becomes more of a fondling activity and chin is once again endangered.

      “No, it’s about what I would expect for an older injury and nothing out of the ordinary.  No inflammation or anything like that from your workout, so I’d say you’re cleared for cycling.  Do you run?”

      “Yeah.  That a problem?”

      “If you did marathons, maybe, but… normal bit of running to stay fit?”

      “Pretty much.”

      “Then that’s fine, with the same words of warning as for the cycle.”

      “Good news!  Once I finish in here, I’ll have myself a little celebratory treat.”

      “Beer?”

      “That too.  Actually, I was thinking about starting a new book from Mycroft’s library.  One of the positive things about being here is unlimited time to read and a nearly unlimited supply of books to choose from.”

 _One_ of the positive things.  Data added to mental notebook to present to the mad scientist that happened to live in his flat.

      “Sounds lovely.  Try to keep Mycroft quiet today, though, alright?  You know he’ll want to get up and about, but I’d prefer another day before he really sees any time on his feet.”

      “Will do.  Thanks, John.  I know he’s happier here than in hospital and _I’m_ happier it’s you keeping watch on him.  Nothing like a military doctor for handling this sort of thing, am I right?”

      “That you are.  Alright, then, I’m off.  Call me if there’s any problem?”

      “Absolutely.  Tell Sherlock ‘fuck you’ for me.”

      “With pleasure.”

Feeling surprisingly successful with his mission, John made very certain not to endanger that by walking into a chair or tripping over his feet on the way to the exercise room door.  Yes, he nearly dithered like a horny teenager, but nearly doesn’t count, _and_ he acquired useful information that would not only win him a week as King of the Telly Remote, but the shower completely free from any moss-growth experiments, as well.  Sherlock may not be happy about it, but the information he had was happily high-quality.

Those strong, white teeth smiling like a kid every time Greg mentions Mycroft?  You didn’t need to be a genius to fathom out what that meant.  But, you _did_ need to be someone who’d been smitten a time or two in this life and that was another fine thing Doctor John Watson had on his resume…

__________

      “Sherlock, you miserable cock!  How are you, today?”

Greg smiled happily into the mobile and imagined Sherlock’s face showing it’s best example of pure, unfiltered exasperation.

      “What do you want, Lestrange?  I will not leave my experiment to rescue you from Mycroft’s pit of despair no matter how ardently you beg.”

      “No rescuing today, thank you very much.  Actually, I have a favor to ask of you.”

      “No.”

      “I wouldn’t say no until you hear what I have to trade.”

      “…………….”

      “I’m waiting.”

      “I will change my original response to a conditional perhaps.”

      “Great!  What I need is for you to go and get me one of those pay-as-you-go SIM cards. Just for a few calls and some texts, nothing too expensive, but I'll see your money back to you the first opportunity I get.”

      “Why?”

      “That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

      “Wrong.”

      “Fine.  I just want to make a few calls, alright?  I’ve got this phone of Mycroft’s and it’s probably logging every call I make and there are people I’d like to talk to that wouldn’t appreciate being on some government phone list.  Just friends and the like, mind you, but I’ve been off radar and I’m certain stories are starting to circulate.  I’d rather nip them in the bud now than have gossip start and some cheap rag get hold of a story about one our nation’s lowest-rung actors going missing which would really send your brother off his nut.”

And, yes, he was rather proud of that cover story, thank you very much.  All that cycling had shaken loose a good idea to pitch to Sherlock and now it was time to see if the fish took the bait.  And he didn’t mean the lovely sole that would arrive today for tonight’s dinner.

      “Mycroft will not be pleased.”

      “Since when has that stopped you?”

      “True.  However, you are supposed to be in hiding for your safety.  How does your activities fit with that particular agenda?”

      “Fits fine, actually.  Like I said, phoning a few friends, tell them I’m on a little holiday, working off some issues after my friend’s sudden death…  Not to be immodest, but I’m a fairly popular bloke and I’m never out of sight for long. If someone starts to sniff around, that just draws attention to me doesn’t it?  Makes people want to know what’s going on?  Sets people on the trail?  That can’t be good for my safety either.”

      “Why not simply discuss this with Mycroft?”

      “Because you _know_ what he’ll say.”

      “Yes, that is rather easy to predict.”

      “Besides, I just don’t like being completely under someone’s thumb.  You understand that don’t you?”

Come on, Sherlock… see the wriggling bait…

      “Very well.  If your offer in trade is acceptable.”

      “I’ll give you the address of one of the best toy shops in London and…”

      “I have no need for plush rabbits and building blocks.”

      “Not toys, you berk.  _Toys_.”

      “That was not helpful.”

      “Toys that adults play with when they’re naked and hoping to have a lovely time with all of that nakedness.  And someone else’s nakedness if that’s a possibility.”

      “Oh.  I see.”

      “I hope you do or you’re in for quite an education when you stop by.  _Very_ good selection and they only stock quality merchandise.  Good people to get hints and tips from, too, so don’t hesitate to ask questions if something catches your eye.  Oh, and ask them to show you the newest wireless vibrator got in a few weeks ago.  Durable egg-shaped one that slips right into a nicely lubed arse and it’s even got an app you can use to control it.  Has a handy little strap, too, so you can wrap it around your cock or balls for a bit of fun that way, if that’s what you’re in the mood for.  Go out for a day with that on or inside you and your partner can make your life an ecstatic misery.  Sound good?”

      “Are they open today?”

      “That they are!  And you can deliver my SIM card on your way back.  I’ll even give you a few especially special tips for whatever you might purchase to put some extra sparkle in yours and John’s eyes.”

      “I will bring my notebook.”

      “Good lad.  I admire your preparedness.”

Terminating the call, Greg stretched and grinned the shining grin of victory.  Time to check on Mycroft, have a shower, then settle in to celebrate this highly-productive day.  Needed to rest up a bit, actually, because there was little doubt in his mind what was going to be on _Mycroft’s_ mind and whether it happened tonight or tomorrow morning, he needed to be in fighting shape for it.  Under no sun in the sky was Mycroft going to try a shower on his own without help, regardless of how much he protested.  Oh well, fighting with Mycroft wasn’t exactly a hardship.  The man was simply gorgeous when he was being combative…


	18. Chapter 18

      “This is delicious, Gregory.  Simply delicious.  How you have transformed a simple piece of sole into something magical will forever baffle me.”

The magical thing, to Greg, was the look on Mycroft’s face as he laid waste to his meal.  Content, healthy, happy… some of that was definitely because of the mood boost from lack of IV and, thank you very much, the cozy socks on his feet, but that any of it was due to _him_ put a smile on his own face.

      “Glad you like it!  Next grocery order, I’ll ask for prawns and other sea beasties because I do enjoy cooking with those little fellows.  Ooh… haven’t made _bouillabaisse_ in a _long_ time and that’s very nourishing for a poor gunshot victim like you.”

      “You are a marvel, Gregory Lestrange.  However did you gain such facility in the kitchen?”

      “Practice.  Trial and error.  More error than trial, most of the time.  Didn’t have a lot of money when I started out so I did a lot of cooking at home.  Learned a bevy of things from my mum and read several shelves worth of recipe books.  Did a few cooking classes, too, if you can believe it!  I’m a strong believer in doing what it takes when you want to learn something, so I sign up, now and again, for those adult education courses this or that group offers.  It’s a good way to meet people, too!    Have a chance to learn a skill and talk to fresh faces.  Actually had a new set of course listings at my flat I was looking through the day… well the day all this went to shite.”

      “Most industrious of you.  I admit that I have neither the time nor the inclination to place myself in a course, however, that you have found a successful mechanism to enhance your personal portfolio is undoubtedly a laudable thing.  I would ask, though, and not for derisive reason, if you announce your profession to those with whom you are interacting.”

      “Ha!  I know what you mean and, no, I don’t.  I’m not ashamed of what I do, you know that well enough by now, but a lot of people are made very fucking uncomfortable when they learn where my wage comes from.  Whereas I wouldn’t mind having a go at trying to change their outlook, that’s not why I’m at the class or shop or whatnot.  Usually I don’t say anything beyond I’m in the entertainment industry and that’s enough for casual conversation.  My neighbors know, though, and they’re actually proud of the fact they’ve got a celebrity in the neighborhood, though they’d not watch one of my films if you gave them a free pint with each viewing.  Ask me about my day and what new projects I’ve got going.  Sometimes pull me aside for a few tips for a special time with the significant other.  I’m lucky in that, because not all nice neighborhoods like mine would be particularly happy with my presence.”

And Gregory _did_ inhabit a cozy, respectable neighborhood according to his file.  The sort with freshly-painted doors and clean, quiet streets.  Another simple fact that had never once made it into Mycroft’s realm of contemplation.

      “What about you, Mr. Minor?  What do you tell people you do when you’re at one of those posh parties with tiny food and crap champagne?”

      “An unfortunately correct description, at that.  Oh, much like you, I provide a vague response, in my case, the area of government service. That generally induces sufficient boredom that no further questions are asked.”

      “See, I’d have a lot of questions about that.  Don’t know much about it, so why would I turn away from a chance to learn when it’d be easy?”

      “An uncommon opinion, in my experience.  But, you are an uncommon man, so I suppose it is apt.”

      “That is very true.  Not too many blokes can give first-hand recommendations for the best cock rings _and_ prepare a moist and flavorful sole.”

      “Verily you are a Renaissance man.”

      “Call me Mercutio.”

      “I prefer Gregory.  It has a heartier sound.”

      “Hearty is good.  I’m happy with that.”

Mycroft smiled and shook his head at the silliness of it all.  The relaxing, comfortable silliness.  That he would discover such a thing with the man who had been at his side throughout the majority of his life was utterly mind-boggling, however, the strange and unusual _did_ happen in this world.  Just never before to him.

      “And, speaking of happy, time for another pill!”

The happiness takes a staggering blow.

      “I am not certain that is entirely necessary.”

      “Yes, it is.  Got to stay on schedule with those or you’re going to hurt miserably and that’s not good for any aspect of your health, physical or mental.  Take you medication just as the doctor prescribed and I promise you’ll be glad you did.  Pain’s not your friend.”

What or who could be counted as his friend hovered rather distressingly close to naught, but that, rather astonishingly, appeared to be changing.  Sherlock’s observations were not entirely far from his own and… that was pleasant.  More than pleasant, actually.  Confounding and confusing, but that could be overlooked for the moment, especially when Gregory was gifting him with a ‘trust me on this’ look as he waved a fork in his direction.  The concern was genuine and the camaraderie was true and warm.  This was the path of friendship, or so he assumed, and it was a path he, most atypically, did not find a disagreeable one.  Further… here his fantasies again came out to play, one had but to add a detail or two and one had a romance.  Friendship underscored all successful romances, did it not?  Sprinkle with attraction and physical desire… well, if he was a lucky man, that would form the basis of tonight’s slate of dreams…

      “Very well, you have my capitulation.”

      “Good.  And, as a reward, how about I offer, not tonight I think, but tomorrow morning or evening… a real shower.”

Seeing Mycroft’s eyes light brightly reassured Greg that going on the offensive for that particular battle was a sound strategic move.

      “That… oh, that would be a blessing.”

      “Alright, then.  We’ll see how tomorrow morning fares and, if not, the evening will be good enough.”

      “And you shall be well-rested tomorrow, my excellent chef, for I assume you shall sleep tonight in a bed as opposed to that chair.”

      You’d assume wrong!”

      “Gregory!”

      “Nope, especially with you fresh off your IV… no, my arse is right here in case you need anything or something goes awry.”

      “That is entirely unnecessary.”

      “I disagree and since it’s my arse in question, I have the deciding vote.”

      “Gregory, you have seen precious little rest these past nights and I am perfectly capable of tending to myself.”

      “Sorry, but this chair is going to enjoy another night of my luscious bum and that’s the end of the story.  See!  What if you need a bedtime story to go to sleep? Who’s going to give you one?  I’ve got loads, so you just speak up when you want one and I’ll spin a magical story with dragons and knights and handsome princes.  It’ll send you straight to sleep and give you the best possible dreams.  Believe me, it’s another of my many, many useful skills.”

Do not smile at me in such an enthralling manner, Gregory.  It is fiendish, for I have no defenses to bring to the battle.

      “Be that as it may, you cannot continue to function at the level of caregiving quality you prefer if you are undone by fatigue.”

That, however, is one weapon I _do_ have in my arsenal and I will use it at will.

      “Good try, Mycroft, but you’re not going to manipulate me into getting what you want that easily…”

Hell and damnation!

      “… for your information, I’m used to ‘precious little rest' in my line of work.  Have a full day of filming then some work at night with a long private show, followed by another early call on the film set, then book group until the wee hours if we’ve got our teeth into something juicy and on it goes.  Sorry, Mycroft, but this is something I’m familiar with and this is for the best possible cause.  Hey!  Don’t stick that tongue out at me!  This is for your own good.”

Villain.  Cape-wearing, lair-dwelling villain… however, there _was_ something I have wanted to know and since the subject _has_ been broached…

      “Very well, though, I still insist it is unnecessary.  But, I would ask, for academic elucidation… you have mentioned before the term ‘private show.’  I am curious as to what that means, given your rather vigorous response to being accused of prostitution.”

      “Oh… yeah.  Nearly forgot about that!  Bet that fucking dimwit hasn’t though.  Anyway, sometimes I get hired for a bit of private dancing, for one bloke or a group, but sometimes it’s a little more and that boosts the price nicely.  Watch me have a lengthy wank, sometimes with props, if you know what I mean, and a really heavy blow at the end.  You can prime the pump a tad if you know how and really give them something to watch when you come.  If they’re truly looking for a thrill, they’ll hire a couple of us to basically act out a scene.  Costs a lot for that because we have to factor in planning and rehearsal time so the client gets something top-notch for his money and that’s not tossed in for free.  Did one like that a few months back, actually.  Bachelor party with two grooms and their friends passed the hat to hire me and Little Mike, _little_ because he’s short, not because he’s got an inchworm between his legs, to give them a thrill.  You know you’re doing a good job when everyone’s got their cock out having their own wank while watching you fuck.  Mike and I had a few good pints to celebrate a job well done after we left for the night, too.”

Why did he ask?  Why did he open the door to let Gregory’s lack of inhibition burst forth?  There were stirrings!  His heavily medicated member was stirring from its slumber that was positively not allowed, not for any reason.  Trust Gregory to overcome medical science in one fell swoop…

      “I… I see.  I believe I understand.  It… it is admirable that you put forth such effort towards your performances, no matter the venue or size of audience.”

      “Thanks!  I do, too.  You pay for a show and I’ll see you get good value for your money.  That’s one of the many reasons I… hmmm….”

      “Gregory?”

      “I was just wondering… I was asked for by name for the job at the hotel.  Wonder if it’s someone who hired me before for something like that so they knew I’d be… distracting.  Or they _knew_ someone who’d hired me for a private job.  Kevin has records of all my work – was that checked?”

      “I see.  Yes, that is an interesting angle.  We looked for direct connections to Marcus in your agent’s records, as well as for his known associates, but it may warrant a closer inspection.”

      “Good.  I want to see whoever’s behind this dealt with and soon.  Speaking of soon, how about a bite of berry crumble before bed.  You can still have your story, too, if you need one.”

      “Gregory… you baked?”

      “Crumbles scarcely qualify for baking, actually, but yeah.  I want to take a class in proper baking, though.  Learn to do cakes and breads and pies… want to be my taste tester?”

      “Yes!  I mean… I suppose I can carry the burden.”

      “Very kind of you, Mr. Holmes.  You’re a good sport.”

      “It is a mark of character I am happy to bear.”

Greg laughed and lifted Mycroft’s plate to bring to the kitchen.  Cheeky bugger… wasn’t it a grand thing that he absolutely adored cheeky buggers.  More points in your favor, Mr. Holmes and you’re already got a ledger full of them…

__________

Mycroft knew when he woke that he would find Greg sitting in the chair near his bed and that he would already be awake with a book, thus he was not at all surprised when he opened his eyes to see that very sight.  And, though it was a thought that would remain unspoken, the sight was a reassuring one.  Mycroft Holmes did not, and _should_ not, require reassurance for something as trivial as resting in his bed, but knowing that, for the first time in his life, someone deemed him sufficiently important to show concern, gave him a warm feeling that cozily heated his chest.

      “I feel you staring, you know.”

      “Twaddle.  You are obviously subject to hallucinations.”

      “Those laser eyes burn a hole in my skin.  See big hole right here.”

      “That is your nostril.”

      “You need to read up a bit on anatomy.”

Mycroft shook his head and chuckled, going so far as to willingly accept the offered sip of water and pain medication.

      “Thank you.  Do tell me, though, Gregory, that you saw some rest during the night.”

      “I saw some rest during the night.  And that’s not a lie, either!  Caught a nice nap in between a film and starting this book.”

      “And, tonight, you shall see an actual bed?”

      “Depends on how you do today, so there’s some incentive to be a good patient and behave yourself.”

      “Boring.”

      “Yeah, that’s true.  But, boring now, so frisky later.  And, to get that started, how about I help you stand and use your piss bottle?”

      “I counter with stand and walk to the loo.”

      “Not this time, because if walking doesn’t go well, you don’t want the ‘doesn’t go well’ to end with wet pyjama pants to add to the misery.”

      “Your logic is vulgar, yet well applied, as always.”

And it _was_ something of an effort to stand and remain standing, even if simply to engage in the mostly-passive activity of urination.

      “There… now, I wager with a little breakfast in you and a chance to move and stretch a bit, you’re next trip out of bed will involve some actual walking.  In fact, why don’t I…”

Mycroft’s mobile sounded loudly in the bedroom with a ringtone Greg didn’t recognize and the fact it made Mycroft snarl put him on alert for snatching it out of Mycroft’s hand and giving the person on the other end a piece of his mind.

      “Report.  I see… yes… no, it was the correct decision.  Send all relevant information to my server and I shall access it here.  I shall initiate video conferencing in ten minutes.”

With the call terminated, Mycroft threw aside his mobile and moved to get out of bed, only to be stopped by Greg’s cautioning hand on his shoulder.

      “Where are you going?”

      “I shall have to video conference with a variety of individuals at rather high levels of various governments and I will _not_ do so in pyjamas.”

      “Alright, you want a suit or something else?”

Mycroft blinked at the lack of argument, something that made Greg laugh.

      “Even I know when not to get between a man and his work.  This sounds serious and I’ll help however I can.”

Small blessings were blessings nonetheless.

      “Thank you, Gregory… a button-up and trousers should suffice.”

      “Crisp shirt and trousers with commanding, somber colors… I’m on this.  Won’t forget the fresh pants, either.  Don’t want your bollocks getting chafed and distracting you while you do whatever it is you do.”

Why could no blessing come untainted by Gregory’s… earthiness.   However, he _would_ feel much more… in control… with undergarments enveloping his unmentionables…

__________

_Argument 1 – Gregory will not leave the room.  Gregory must leave the room for security reasons.  Gregory threatens liver for dinner.  Gregory wins argument._

_Argument 2 – Gregory insists on persistently peddling pain medication.  I do not want pain medication. Gregory calls debate point concerning muddling of mental faculties ‘a load of fuckity fucklucks.’  Unable to respond due to inanity overload, however, compromise reached on half-dosage until end of ongoing international situation._

_Argument 3 – Gregory now insists that food be taken to uphold strength.  Counter with labeling his hen-pecking ‘a load of interminable mollycoddling.’  That is countered with a charge of ‘you’re pale as a fucking bleached sheet.’  My counter derailed by feeling… woozy.  Gregory wins argument._

_Argument 4 – Walking to the loo.  It was not wise.  Gregory wins argument by default, but kindly did not gloat over victory while he supported my weight as I found relief._

_Argument 5 – I want Jammie Dodgers.  Gregory proclaims them nutritionally bankrupt and unsuitable for a convalescent.  I threaten him with loss of library privileges.  I win argument._

Long after the sun set, Mycroft finally was able to disconnect the video feed for the final time and deem the current situation managed.  It had been a difficult one, as they ever were, but even his health-impaired faculties were more than adequate to see it sorted and now…

      “I know that look.”

      “Do tell.”

      “Someone’s proud of himself after a successful day’s work, which is absolutely justified because you were brilliant… positively and unquestionably… brilliant, and now you’re hoping for a good hot meal, then a good hot shower.  How’d I do?”

      “Correct on all fronts.”

      “Then aren’t you lucky that I started dinner while you were yelling at that bloke in the uniform with all those obviously-fake medals on his chest.  A couple of lean chops and potatoes?  Nice portion of lovely green veggies with a touch of butter?”

      “I feel as if I am on holiday.”

      “Good!  If you’ve got to have a hole in you, and not one that nature provided, you might as well take some enjoyment from it.  Let me go and get that finished and we’ll have a relaxing meal before you relax even more under cascades of hot water.  And take a full pain pill while I’m gone, please, so that shower doesn’t bring any unwanted surprises.”

On holiday at the most guest-pampering spa in the nation.  If every day could end with such soothing delights, his life would be… well, there was no earthly word for it.  Not in any language…

__________

The word was hellacious!  He was in hell and Beelzebub himself was glaring with demonic flames in his eternally-evil eyes!

      “I _am_ and that’s the end of it!”

      “You will not accompany me for my shower!”

      “I will or you’re not having one!  You couldn’t make it for a piss without getting lightheaded!”

      “That was a unique occurrence!”

      “Because you only tried once!  I’m not willing to let your nice shower become your nice fractured skull!”

The glaring war continued with each man firmly placed in their trench, content to await Doomsday before giving in.  It was no surprise, then, that Greg resorted to cheating.

      “NO!”

      “Ha!”

      “Return my blanket!”

      “Nope.  And, my next act of defiance will be turning on that expensive air system you’ve got and dropping the temperature to about that of Antarctica.  Actually…”

      “My socks!”

      “You didn’t want them anyway!”

      “I suppose my trousers are next?”

      “No, that would jostle you too much and even being back on schedule with your meds, I don’t want to chance things.  So… are we going to do this or what?”

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!   And, again.  NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!   Gregory… supervising his shower… no, this could not come to pass…

      “Can we agree… that you wait out here once I am situated?”

      “How am I going to be there to give you someone to hold onto if I’m out here.  Your arms aren’t _that_ long.”

No… that was obviously misheard.

      “H… hold onto?”

      “Of course!  Until you’re a bit steadier, you’ll need a body there to grab you if you slip or for you to grab if you get lightheaded.  That can happen in a hot shower and I’ll not let you get hurt because of it.”

      “You… you intend on being in the shower with me?”

      “How is it you have the most magnificent mind I’ve ever witnessed when you’re ordering the world’s politicians and diplomats about, but this is too hard for you to understand?”

Understanding was not the problem… it was not NEARLY the problem.  Gregory… IN THE SHOWER!  NAKED!  Bedecked only in soft droplets of water… his incomparable form but inches from his own…

      “And, I’ve lost you.  Good, it’s easier this way, in any case.”

Mycroft’s mind was sufficiently short-circuited that he didn’t notice being cautiously helped from his bed and it was only the slide of his shirt across his shoulders that brought his attention back from dreamland.

      “I am being denuded!”

      “Is that an actual word?”

      “Yes.”

      “Learned something, then.  Hold onto my shoulder or my head while I get these trousers off of you, alright.  Don’t let your stubbornness get you hurt.”

The fact that having Gregory disrobe him was no longer a source of profound anxiety was, in itself, disturbing, but… what would come next…

      “There… all those pesky clothes off of you so we can get down to business.  John left me these waterproof coverings for your bandages, so let’s get that done…”

Perhaps if stand quietly, Gregory will forget I am here and become confused.

      “There you go… all ready for a nice shower.  Let me get lose my rags… just a moment…”

Shit.  Mountains of steaming piles of shit.

      “Gregory… sincerely, I can…”

Oh, there is his chest… the virility is nearly heart-stopping…

      “Mycroft, are you alright?”

In a moment, his trousers shall slowly slide down his body, revealing first that titillating expanse of skin beneath his perfectly-shaped navel, an expanse that begs in the most pleading tones for a long lick by an eager tongue…

      “No, I guess you’re not.  Here… yoo-hoo, Mycroft… following the waving fingers…”

      “What?  Oh… oh, do pardon me.  I was… remembering a bit of work left undone.”

Greg ran an eye over his naked host and latched onto something that set a few wheels turning in his head.  Yes, something was starting to make sense.  A good kind of sense, too…

      “Come with me…”

Mycroft gasped as Greg wrapped an arm around his waist and began walking him towards the shower which, thankfully, was only across the bedroom, because Mycroft’s knees had already gone weak.  Gregory’s body was pressed against his!  And it was half-naked!  While _he_ was fully naked!  This was the most heavenly nightmare of his existence!

Greg made sure Mycroft was fully supported with a hand on the sink basin before removing his arm from Mycroft’s waist, then looked him squarely in the eye while wearing what he hoped was a gentle smile and not a seductive grin.

      “Now, just give me one minute…”

NO!  Don’t strip you stupid berk!  Do NOT put on a sexy show for Mycroft because he’s already loony with nerves and that’s not going to help!  Practical, straightforward, no-nonsense getting your kit off and on the floor.  Save the sexy stuff until you know for certain…

      “There.  Ready for a good washing.  Let me start the water running…”

Gregory is naked.  Nude.  Bereft of clothing.  Air clad.  His penis is in my bath.

      “Ooohhh… good and hot.  Lovely.  Now, hold onto me again and watch that step-up.  I’ll have you, but be careful…”

I am again in his arms… well, arm.  Oh dear heavens… the numbers of Gregory’s films that centered on a shared shower… the passion shared under a veil of falling water… the depth of sexual liberation that occurred in this scenario was… STIRRINGS!  Naked Gregory and his mind running wild with images of the most libidinous nature… no, he could not do this.  The humiliation would be crippling…

      “Uh… no.  I just got you in here, I’m not letting you do a runner now.”

Naked in the shower with Gerard Lestrange… this was not real… it could not be real… it was more than his mind could take…

      “Gregory, I simply… this is beyond what I can…”

      “Shhh…. It’s alright, Mycroft.  It really is.”

Gerard Lestrange is softly caressing my face.  This has to be a dream…

      “It’s very, very alright, I promise.”

No, it could never be alright… he would disgrace himself, show himself to be weak and sexually desperate…

      “Perfect… you’ve been wanting to do that, haven’t you?”

What?  How… how were his hands running across Gregory’s chest?  How did this happen?

      “I admit I gave them a spot of help getting started, but your hands have been trying to reach out for me ever since we began this little adventure.  That’s ok, because I’ve had a hard time controlling mine, too.”

What?  That… that did not make sense…

      “You’re a gorgeous man, Mycroft.  Smart, too.  And funny.  We didn’t meet under the best circumstances, but… I’m glad we did.  And, maybe… maybe I’ve been starting to wish that we might get to know each other better.  Maybe see if… it sounds daft, perhaps, to think an elegant, sophisticated man like you might consider even casting a look towards a bloke who makes dirty films for a living, but… I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

No… that was nonsense… his ears or brain or something was not functioning properly…

      “Your hands are happy, which is a good sign…”

Running over Gregory’s stomach which was tantalizingly provided with just a bit of softness…

      “… and, if it means anything to you, I like it.  I very much like your hands on me.  If you’ll permit it, I’d… I’d like to touch you a little.  Not to clean, but because I’d like to know what your skin feels like when it’s being given a different type of attention.”

Mycroft’s brain cleared and his head snapped up from watching the motion of his hands so he stared directly into Greg’s deep brown eyes.

      “You… me?”

      “You’re a very attractive man, Mycroft.  You shouldn’t be surprised.”

Surprised?  Stunned, shocked, astounded… Gerard Lestrange, the most enticing man in existence found _him_ attractive?

      “I…”

      “If you don’t believe me, look down again, but maybe a little further this time.”

Such wicked grin… and down?  Why down?  What was… oh my…”

      “I started to get hard the moment your put your hands on me.  You _are_ an attractive man, Mycroft.  A sexy, vibrant, interesting man and you easily make me hot and hard.  I’ve had to take care of that a couple of times, too, because I took to bed and made the mistake of thinking of you once I got between the sheets.  Had myself a very pleasant wank with you inspiring all the amazing images in my head.  Right now, I know it’s not the best time to think about doing anything… energetic about it, but… can I touch you?  Would you like that?”

Gerard... _Gregory_ … found him… desirable?  That was… not possible.  Not him… not plain, tedious, stilted, awkward, anxious _him_ … but Gregory was smiling, and that smile was unmistakably hopeful…

      “Y…yes.”

      “Thanks.  Such wonderful skin you have.”

Greg slowly ran a hand along Mycroft’s long neck and stepped just a tiny bit closer so he could easily lay both hands flat on his shower partner’s shoulders, sliding them across and down Mycroft’s arms to test if this was something Mycroft really _did_ want before going any further.  From the shuddered intake of breath and fluttering of Mycroft’s eyes, he concluded that his touch was something the man from the government dearly wanted, so touch he would have in abundance.

      “Perfect.   Your body really is a splendid thing, Mycroft.  You wear those suits of yours like a prince, but you’re unbelievable wearing nothing but this creamy skin.”

That… Gregory could not believe that… the man who was perfection personified could _not_ believe that however… his touch was achingly gentle, but, also, notably keen.

      “ _Yes_ … do that again.”

What?  What had he done?  Oh dear… his hands had run themselves across Gregory’s magnificent arse.  They were possessed!  He had not willed such a thing, but… it was as plump and firm and warm and glorious as he had ever believed… and it fit so perfectly in these long-fingered hands.

      “It’s a national treasure, I know.”

Now he was giggling!  The demons had surely possessed him, but… must reply!  Gregory will think him even more foolish if he did not…

      “I… I agree.”

      “Good.  Glad you know a good thing when you see… or feel… it.”

That is a wicked smile, Gregory, but… there is something else in there.  Something that seems to want me to look deeper than the level of your awe-inspiring bottom to, perhaps, a fuller picture.  And, one that is not entirely physical…

      “I do too, for your information.  You’re a very good thing, Mr. Holmes.  With your own very delightful arse.”

Which you are touching!  Fondling!  The ecstasy is inexpressible… heavens above, this is transcendent… And… Gregory, are you purring?

      “That’s something I could play with for hours.  What did you say?  Pert and exquisite – right on target, no question about it.  Hope you don’t mind if I enjoy it a moment…”

Enjoy at will.  My… masculine anatomy… might not be able to proclaim, but I yearn for you, Gregory.  I yearn with a power that is… it has a life’s worth of years to its credit and is a mighty thing indeed.  Yet, you are so much more than I imagined… oh dear, someone catch me!

      “Got you!  Got you, you gorgeous man.  Told you it was easy to get lightheaded in a hot shower.”

I am in his arms...

      “But, this is nice, I have to admit.  Wondered how you would feel against me and now I know.  Fabulous, that’s what it feels like.  And, lucky me, I can do this…”

… and he is laying kisses along my neck…

      “… love your taste…”

… running hands over my back…

      “… and your smell…”

… nuzzling my chin, licking it softly…

      “…everything about you, really…”

Greg leaned upwards and gently kissed Mycroft’s lips, lingering and teasing slightly until Mycroft began to kiss him back, tentatively at first, then with increasing vigor, using his own arms to draw Greg deeper into the embrace that seemed to last until the stars burned out in the sky.

      “Fucking amazing… you completely amaze me, Mycroft.”

Not that Mycroft could register anything at the moment, because his mind was completely blank and entirely unaware of the large smile Greg was giving him or the one he was offering in return.

      “We’ll do more of this, if it’s alright with you.”

A question.  Mycroft Holmes was familiar with questions.  Mycroft Holmes answered them in precise and scholarly terms.

      “I… yes… oh yes… that… yes.”

Mycroft Holmes was a genius.

      “Good.  I… I was hoping you’d say that.  First, though, we’ll give you that scrubbing you’ve been fantasizing about.”

      “N… now?”

Gregory’s smile was unrepentantly wicked… it must taste delicious…

This time, Mycroft leaned in and kissed Greg, though there was nothing of his former hesitancy in the act.  This was bold, electric, fierce and shot the heat in each man’s core to a highly needful level.

      “Fuck me… when you… when you’re better, Mycroft… I’m going to take advantage of that.  Make you scream with pleasure… show you what it means to see stars in your mind when you come…”

Yes… dear heavens, yes…

      “Now.”

      “No, you’re not in shape for it.”

_“Gregory…”_

      “Listen to my sweet Mycroft beg.  That’s dangerous with me, love.  Those beautiful lips pouting and begging… that’s brutal to resist.”

      “Don’t then.”

      “Not going to do anything that might hurt you.”

      “Gregory… please…”

      “When you’re better, I’ll give you everything you want.  I promise I will.  Besides, that succulent cock of yours isn’t ready to have a good time.  He wants to, though, and that makes me _very_ happy.”

      “ _You_ can.”

      “What?”

      “You can… have a good time.”

      “Mycroft…”

What had bewitched him?  Mycroft Holmes did not beg!  Did not whine like a cat in heat?  Did not… oh dear, certainly did not rub his body against Gregory’s erection and kiss his neck, making small, moaning sounds that only Gregory’s ears could hear…

      “Please, my dear… take your pleasure and know it also will be mine…”

Greg’s bitten back ‘fuck!” preceded an eruption of fire in his eyes that completely captivated Mycroft and he groaned in satisfaction as Greg firmly, but carefully, turned him and pressed him face-first against the shower wall.

      “You’re a dangerous man, Mycroft.  Fucking dangerous… not going to do a thing to hurt you and I’m holding you all the time, but you fucking tell me _immediately_ if anything’s wrong.  Do you understand?”

Mycroft nodded rapidly and moaned loudly as Greg nipped his ear to show approval as he reached up under Mycroft’s arm and wrapped his own around Mycroft’s chest for support.

      “Gregory…”

      “Just one moment, love, let me… yes!  Conditioner works in a pinch and one-handed operation, too.  A little slick for me and a lot right between those thighs of yours… and… oh god… oh yes, that’s perfect…

Mycroft gasped when Greg’s cock slid between his thighs and that gasp became an urging ‘yes’ as Greg began to thrust shallowly, slowly at first, then more quickly with his body pressed close to his partner’s so that Mycroft had contact across most of his form, a feeling that, being so thoroughly enveloped by a powerful body, found Mycroft without words to describe the rapture he was experiencing.

      “You’re a fucking witch you are, Mycroft.  So bloody perfect and sets my blood boiling just catching your scent in the air when you’re filled with want.  I’ll give you what you want you gorgeous bastard.  Give you _everything_ you want…”

Mycroft was so lost in sensation that the world was simply a swirl of primal noises, wet heat, consuming desire and the strength of the man holding him firmly.  When Greg shouted loudly and buried his face in Mycroft’s neck, holding tightly to the flesh with his teeth as he let his orgasm roll through him, Mycroft felt his own surge of emotional pleasure that set his nerves fully aflame with ecstasy.  This… _this_ is what he had forever craved and with the man from whom he had always craved it.

      “I… fuck me… oh god, Mycroft, that… so fucking good… so _fucking_ good…”

Greg let his hands roam a moment over Mycroft’s skin, laying tender kisses over the vibrant mark he’d placed at the base of Mycroft’s neck and simply breathed the aroma of their bodies and the satisfaction thrumming through their veins.  After his breathing slowed a little, he eased back and gently turned Mycroft back to face him, smiling widely at the completely blissful look on his partner’s face.

      “That’s what I like to see, my beautiful Mycroft completely content from a bit of fast and sexy fun.  Are you alright, though?  Tell me how you’re feeling, love.”

Love… Gregory had gifted him with a term of endearment… there was nothing wrong with that notion, either.  Nothing at all…

      “I am sated, invigorated, incandescent, enriched… I have a thousand words for what I am feeling, but none are precisely nuanced to paint the picture in the palette it deserves.”

Greg took Mycroft’s lips in another kiss and found himself gazing into his partner’s eyes when he finally drew away.  Those were eyes he could get lost in.  Maybe already was.  It should be frightening, but it was as far from that as things could be…

      “Now, tell me how you’re feeling concerning that tunnel through you.  I… it wasn’t smart letting my cock do the thinking and I’m sorry for that, so…”

Mycroft’s index finger pressed firmly against Greg’s lips and he grinned watching Greg’s eyes cross as he tried to see the assault.

      “I desired it and what I desire, I acquire.  I do believe, my dear, you are forgetting who, here, is boss.”

Having his finger licked by an exceedingly saucy tongue was exactly the response Mycroft predicted and he let it linger there a moment before pulling away and enjoying Greg’s sultry smile as his reward.

      “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Holmes.  You are the boss and I’m here to please you.”

      “Very good.  For that, you may indulge yourself and wash me.”

Greg’s laughter sparked Mycroft’s own and, after one final kiss, and a ‘yes sir, right away sir, Greg was covering Mycroft’s body with lather, on high alert for any weakness that might send his Mycroft onto the shower floor.  His Mycroft… oh yes, this kingly man was his alright… this was exactly what you read about and think is impossible to find… that person who ignites you in all sorts of wonderful ways and a good fight doesn’t change that in the slightest.  Someone who arouses your mind as well as your body and does a brilliant job with both.  Well, Mycroft Holmes had been in good hands before, but now, he was truly going to be treated like the majestic creature he was.  After all, one did what must to make the boss happy…


	19. Chapter 19

This time when Mycroft woke, he looked across the bed and found, as expected, _his_ Gregory propped up, blankets across his legs, reading glasses on his nose, and deep in a book.  It had only been a small battle to convince his… lover… to share this rather enormous bed and that it would, in no manner, be injurious to the heath of the patient it housed.  Gregory’s protestations that he slept somewhat like an octopus that had rather unfortunately found itself out of water and believed flailing its limbs would somehow summon a flood to transport it back to the welcoming arms of the ocean had been countered by a reminder of the aforementioned _enormity_ of the bed and agreement had cautiously followed.

Not that Mycroft saw an abundance of sleep because of it.  The agitated cephalopod did, as predicted, emerge, however, it was the most… adorable… sight Mycroft had ever seen.  Gregory slept as vigorously as he lived, but it took only a hand placed upon his body and his form calmed immediately and shuffled towards the source of the touch to nestle awhile against the body that welcomed him gladly.  Who could sleep with that remarkable show playing throughout the night!  Of course, that particular reason owned not the lion’s share of the blame for his restlessness…

How could one sleep when one had achieved the greatest fantasy of one’s life?  Since he was scarcely an adult he had dreamt of the man at his side and what would be the experience of being taken in his arms.  His dream was nothing, nothing at all, similar to the reality, which outstripped his expectations to an astonishing degree.  Gregory’s passion was indescribable, but it was suffused with tenderness and, dare he think it, affection and that made for an astounding combination that was utterly unique in his experience.  The gentleness, the softly bestowed kisses as they settled in bed for the night… Gregory cared.  Cared and desired.  Such was truly the stuff of dreams…

      “Looking up my nostril again?”

      “I believe I am witness to the inner workings of your mind from this vantage point.”

      “I admit my brain’s tiny enough to fit in my nose, but I’ve had a few shoe-losing sneezes in my life and that surely would have sent the little pea flying.  Probably got eaten by a pigeon or something.  I’m not even sure how I’m able to see anymore, let alone talk.  Miracle, probably.  Or witches.”

Not an iota of Gregory’s humor was to be found in his films.  Light-heartedness, on occasion, however, none of the ready wit and cleverness he demonstrated in person.  That was reserved, apparently, for the people who shared his personal life, a group that now included _him_.

      “Verily, it could be so.  We _have_ been tracking an increase in witchcraft and wizardry over the past several years, so I shall add your data point to our records.”

      “Yes!  Always wanted to be a data point.  Is there a reward for that?”

Are you favoring me with a seductive, teasing grin, Gregory Lestrange?  Well, I shall happily rise to your challenge.

      “Perhaps.  Shall a kiss suffice?”

      “Perfect!”

Greg slid down carefully in the bed and, even more carefully, budged over to take Mycroft’s lips in a slow, gentle kiss that provided no sexual fire but a profoundly penetrating warmth that Mycroft found he treasured just as greatly.

      “Good morning, love.  Did I wake you?”

      “Not at all.  Nor did you make my sleep a distressing one, as you so greatly feared.”

      “The mighty octopus didn’t bounce you off the bed or tangle you in a flurry of tentacles?”

      “Here I am and here I have been the entire night, with nary a trace of tentacle lingering on my skin.”

      “That’s good.  I _was_ concerned, Mycroft.  You’re healing nicely, but there’s still a lot to worry about, and, if you haven’t noticed, I have an amazing ability to worry.”

      “Do you? Hmmm… it completely slipped my attention.”

Greg grinned and gave Mycroft another kiss for being exactly the sort of person he wanted to wake up with in the morning.  The man was unbelievable!  Watching him yesterday was the most spectacular thing he’d ever witnessed.  Commanding, brilliant, ruthless… he’d already been a little in awe of the man, but after seeing what Mycroft really did with his _minor_ government position… awe scarcely did justice to how he’d felt.  Yet, the same man was funny, kind, at least to people who deserved it, adorably petulant and… fucking, _massively_ fucking sexy.  The whole package… he’d called Mycroft dangerous and that was absolutely the case.  Luckily, he enjoyed a little danger in his life.

      “Must be low blood sugar.  A spot of breakfast will fix that.’

      “Good heavens, Gregory, you are more assiduous than a mother.”

      “Well done me.  Besides, you don’t know if that mobile of yours is going to ring again and you’re drawn into another thriller-novel situation, so you need to stay in top shape.  Let’s get you sorted first, though.  Can’t have you lying here uncomfortable while waiting for breakfast, now can we?”

Very cautiously, Greg got out of bed and Mycroft tried not to smile at the sight of the reigning monarch of the male porn industry padding across his bedroom floor with a pair of exceedingly-generic slippers on his feet and a pair of equally-bland pyjama bottoms covering his delectable assets.  The nod to prudery had come from the knowledge that John would arrive this morning for the standard health check and there was no scenario possible where finding them naked, sharing a bed would end in anything but a tragic amount of chaos.  However, the normalcy of his Gregory’s garments suited their morning routine quite appropriately, because it _was_ their morning routine.  They had a routine!  They had already established a set ritual of behaviors that characterized their day and, though that was the most drearily anthropological description his mind could have concocted, it pleased Mycroft to an unparalleled degree.

Fortunately, John didn’t arrive until the morning had progressed to the point where breakfast had been consumed, Mycroft had already handled three rather panicked calls stemming from lingering issues concerning the previous day’s incident and Greg had used the time to place a few calls and texts of his own away from Mycroft’s observant eyes.  His Mycroft was on the way to being on his feet, but that didn’t mean he’d jump back into the investigation about the events that brought this raggedy entertainer to hide under this scorchingly-expensive roof.  Mycroft was… well, saying the man was busy with important things didn’t even scratch the surface of reality and he felt a bit like a heel tormenting him for what, on the world stage, was an extremely minor matter.  It was _highly_ important to him, to Kevin and Kevin’s sons, but… Mycroft worked at a level far above that of four individual people.

So, he’d take a greater role in that part of things.  Already had, really, since there were lines of inquiry spreading about and there was no doubt they’d find their mark.  Bring Mycroft some real information he could use to see progress on the case, find the bastard who murdered Kevin and bring him to justice.  Or just execute him.  There was enough talk yesterday that the concept of Mycroft simply ordering the bastard beheaded wasn’t at all out of the realm of possibility.  That’d be alright, too.  Some people didn’t deserve to live and extermination of those vermin very much had his personal seal of approval…

__________

      “Well, you’re still alive.”

Alive and looking rather happy about life, if John was any judge of the matter.  Seeing Mycroft smile and it not being related to someone else’s very bad day was something quite new and John was still having difficulty wrapping his head around this shift in paradigm.

      “Thank you, John.  I wasn’t entirely certain, but your professional opinion has removed any and all remaining doubt.”

And where did he find a sense of humor?  Again, when not applied to someone else’s spectacular and Mycroft-prompted downfall?  It was almost as if… where was Greg?  Sitting there smiling… that was tenderness.  And pride!  Proud that Mycroft showed a bit of humor.  

      “Uh… yeah.  Good!  Really… very, very good.  I’d… have you been on your feet very much?”

Data!  Must have data!

      “A tad.  Gregory has been most vigilant, however, that those few trips have been successful ones.”

Those few trips… alright, a change in pattern for Mycroft’s day and that coincided with this new… whatever was going on.  Think… a medical degree meant you could at least think, you stupid doctor.  Mycroft was fed, but it was highly unlikely the insanely-cautious Greg would let him walk downstairs to the kitchen or dining room.  Mycroft was… evacuated.  Greg _would_ escort Mycroft to the loo, but he’d already done loo-related things and it didn’t create this feeling of… coziness… that was practically fogging the room.  Mycroft was also clean.  Nicely clean.  Washed hair level of clean.  And… there were bandage covers in the rubbish bin.  That meant, most likely, a shower.  Which Greg would chew through his tongue before letting Mycroft manage alone.  And Mycroft would chew through his tie before allowing unless he actually wanted it.  Oh no… Sherlock was going to explode. It would be like a grenade going off and they’d be picking pieces of detective out of the rugs for years!

      “Excellent.  It’s good to… stay active so no… pesky blood clots form in your legs.  And…”

Should he?  Snooping into the love life of his patient _could_ be classified as health-related.  He’d done far nosier things for far shakier reasons…

      “… from the contents of the bin, I’d say you had a shower or bath.  That… that always makes a body feel better now matter what’s beset it during the day.”

John Watson just used beset in a sentence.  His mum would be so proud.  Now, don’t revel in motherly pride, observe!

      “Yes, a shower was precisely what I needed to truly feel… enlivened.”

Smile!  And not an ‘oh, it’s nice to be clean’ smile!  That smile had… intent.  It had… layers.  It was laden with typically-Mycroft double-meanings and there was a clear cut of eyes towards the bastard who was sitting there grinning back like he was… this was a disaster!  Or not.  Why was it a disaster?  Mycroft and a porn star?  DISASTER!  It didn’t look like one, though.  It looked… comfortable.  Was that disastrous?  It involved Mycroft, so the probability was high.  And it involved a PORN STAR so the probability shot off the scale.  But… why did it look so much like two middle-aged men who were very content to be in each other’s company and couldn’t think of another place they’d rather be at the moment?

      “Not… not an uncommon claim from patients, so… good!  It bears saying once again that caution is still warranted, but I’m satisfied with your progress so far and I’d say you can begin thinking about seeing parts of the house other than your bedroom.  Give it a few more days, though, alright?  And be especially cautious on the stairs.  It won’t take much of a misstep for something highly unfortunate to occur.”

      “Not to worry, John.  I’ll see Mycroft has a safe trip, don’t you think for a second I won’t.”

Smug!  That was a smug, self-satisfied expression so smoky with protectiveness that he wanted to cough.  This was bad.  Maybe not a history-making disaster, but bad.  Right?  Admittedly, it was good that Mycroft had someone here who was keeping a highly-attentive eye on his health and safety but… poooooorrrrrnnnnnn.  The sheer quantity and diversity of toys Sherlock had brought home, based on Greg’s helpful recommendations… that _had_ to be factored into the equation!  Mycroft Holmes + sex toys was not a formula that led to anything other than world devastation.  The mental image was making his brain vomit, for god’s sake!

      “Good.  That’s…. really good.  Alright, then, let me check your bandage supply and medication level, then I’ll be out of your way.”

Because I think I need a very large drink of something strong even though it’s still morning.  Medicinal whisky has a long and venerable history in medicine and… oh.  Oh no.  Loose pyjama collars and correct angle of vision has presented a sight no human should ever have seared into their retinas.  Mycroft Holmes has a love bite.  He couldn’t have given it to himself!  Greg had done it, the sexy bastard with his smugness and… oops.  The sexy bastard was glaring.  Nothing to glare at smug, sexy man… just a doctor checking on things doctors normally check on and now smiling cordially as I most certainly don’t run out of the bedroom and make a break for freedom…

      “I’ll be back in a moment, Mycroft.  Just need to ask John a quick question.”

Smug man is chasing me!

      “Oh, John…”

Not running, just… hustling…

John had no real idea why he was darting towards the front door like the devil was on his heels, but since there _was_ a devil on his heels, he breathed a sigh of relief when his hand reached the knob and only swallowed slightly in panic as an arm shot out next to his face to hold the door closed.  And he saw a rather sinister grin when he turned to look the demon full in the face.

      “Where you going in such a hurry, mate?”

      “Uh… nowhere?  I mean… no use loitering here when we’ve all got better things to do with our time.”

      “Lies are my specialty, John.  I can see them, smell them and taste them a mile away and yours are especially pungent.”

      “I… never noticed that, so thanks, I suppose.”

      “You were acting funny up there and shot out like you’d seen a leopard running at you once you caught sight of Mycroft’s little… decoration.  We need to talk about that?”

      “I… no?”

      “And by no, did you mean yes?”

      “I… yeah.  Yeah, I suppose we do.”

      “Got a problem with it?”

A problem?  No.  Legions of problems?  Yes.  Or no.  Porn was such a confusing thing.

      “No… not specifically.  It’s just… you and Mycroft?”

      “Something wrong with that?”

      “No… not specifically.”

      “Why not start speaking generically, then, if that’s where the problem is.”

      “I…”

Greg sighed and pulled his arm from the door, nodding for John to follow him to the kitchen where, John was happy to note, he started the kettle for tea.

      “If me and Mycroft is going to be a problem for you, John, I’d appreciate knowing now and knowing why.”

      “Problem’s not the right word, really.  It’s just… first, I never thought about Mycroft with _anyone_.  He doesn’t seem the type to have an anyone in his life.  Then… well, you’re you, aren’t you?”

      “What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

      “Nothing bad!  But… if I was to imagine Mycroft with an anyone, it’d be someone… well, the only person I can really imagine Mycroft with is his own clone and that’s… well, that’s not exactly you.”

      “You’re saying I’m not good enough for him?”

Glaring!  Not sexily, either.  Not at all sexily.  Actually, my nose is starting to hurt and I’m not exactly sure why.

      “No!  It’s not an issue of good enough or not good enough… it’s… I don’t know what it is!  I can’t even say I disapprove or think it’s wrong or anything like that.  It’d be the same if you were a gym instructor or worked at a pet shop.”

      “Lying again, you miserable fuck…”

      “I’m not!  Not… entirely.  Yes… the porn business is… complicating my thinking, but… it’s not making me think worse of you or the two of you as a couple.  It’s just… complicated.”

      “I _am_ good enough for him, just so you know.  And he’s good enough for me.”

      “Ok… really, Greg, I…”

      “I may be a simple, common man who works for a living, but that doesn’t mean I’m dirt on Mycroft’s shoe.”

      “Not saying you are.  Dirt, I mean, not… a man.”

      “Good.  Because I’m not.  I get a lot of that in my life, people looking down on me for what I do.  Thinking I’m vile and reprehensible, degraded and unworthy.  Vulgar, morally wrong and unseemly.  Lower than the lowest and I’m not.”

John was happy Mycroft’s cups were sturdy because the force with which Greg slammed his tea on the table would have shattered a weedier specimen.

      “That’s… that’s one of the reasons Mycroft’s special.  He didn’t know who I was when he first met me and… I can’t talk about the actual circumstances, but let’s just say they painted me in pretty much the light most people expect to find someone like me.  Mycroft could have judged me then and there, given me a label and treated me like shite, but he didn’t.  He treated me with respect, with real concern for… what had happened, and didn’t hold me at arm’s length because I wasn’t as wealthy or educated or powerful as he was.  He treated me like someone of worth and value and… really stepped up for me when my friend died.  Not a person in a hundred, a thousand even, would have met someone like me and treated me as if I was right on level with them.  That means a lot to me, you know?  Now he’s willing to take that further and that means… it’s important to me, John.  So, if this is going to put an obstacle between me and you, let’s handle it now so there’s nothing strange and awkward to upset Mycroft while he’s recovering.”

If the glaring hadn’t convinced John that Greg was very serious about this change of circumstances with Mycroft, the blatant sincerity in his eyes, underscored by a large amount of hopeful optimism certainly would have done the trick.  This _was_ important to Greg and, somehow, that made it… easier on the brain.

      “No, no obstacles.  I won’t, not for a moment either promise or speculate about how Sherlock’s going to react, but we’re fine.  Honestly, it just shocked me a bit because I wasn’t expecting anything like that and I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to process it properly.  If you’re happy and Mycroft’s happy then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

      “It is, but that’s why I wanted to talk to you and hear what your problem might be so I could address any concerns so neither me or Mycroft had to suffer that happiness being shit on when you stopped in for a visit.  And… I’m not so proud that I think there _couldn’t_ be any issues.  You’ve known Mycroft longer than me and maybe you did have something real and tangible that made sense.  Something I needed to know.”

      “No offense, but that’s not how it came across.”

Greg scowled and cut eyes to John that reinforced to the doctor why Mycroft would have tried to snap the man up if it was at all possible.  Those were picture perfect apologetic-toddler eyes and not a person on Earth could stay angry or offended with those turned in their direction.

      “Yeah… I know.  And I’m sorry about that, I truly am.  I… I get bull-headed, at times.  Go on the offensive to get the upper hand in things.  There’s more than one person who thinks I’m an incredible arse because we had a row and I never had a real chance to apologize.  Best advice is to tell me to fuck off until I cool down so we can have a proper conversation without me snarling and snapping and twisting your arm behind your back to get things moving the way I want it to.”

      “Given that advice to Mycroft yet?”

      “HA!  Oh, he’s already familiar with the, shall we say, aggressive side of my personality and I don’t just mean from the little nip that painted his skin that lovely color.  I made certain he wasn’t banged about any while he was getting that, though, so don’t worry I set his recovery back.  Anyway, he’s seen me being a properly stubborn bastard and a snarly one, too, so there aren’t any surprises there.”

Did not need the return of the middle-aged Mycroft- and-porn-king sexathon in my mind, Greg, so thank you for crippling me, yet again.

      “G… good.  He’s got a long reach, you know… probably have you deported or thrown into some dungeon somewhere if you genuinely made him angry.”

      “Don’t I know it!  I’ve gotten to see him work a bit and… it’s positively staggering what he can do.  I’m utterly amazed that all that incredible intellect, will and authority fits into one, extremely gorgeous, package.  He’s a stunning, astonishing man and I’ve never met another like him.”

There.  That was it!  Greg was as smug and excited as _any_ bloke who’d found someone special.  It was normal.  That’s what was wrong!  Mycroft and Greg, two of the most not-normal people in the world were doing something… normal.  It didn’t fit.  Didn’t connect.  The porn star and the British government didn’t have normal relationships, especially not with each other, but… that’s what was happening.  They should both be… above… that type of average-person sort of thing, but that, apparently, wasn’t the case.  And… he had to say he was happy for them, because if two people like that actually stooped to a… romance… it had to be something both wanted a great deal and had the chance to be… well, as special as Greg so obviously hoped.

      “Well, I don’t see the appeal, but that’s likely because (a) he has me kidnapped when it suits him and (b) no, (a) is enough.  Everything else is just icing on a very disappointing cake.  I’ll tell Sherlock, so he doesn’t have a stroke strolling in on you doing something with his brother that’s best done out of sight of young, impressionable eyes, though the impressionable part is certainly taking a beating what with Mr. Gregory Lestrange tossing out advice like some form of diabolical sex tips column in a women’s magazine.”

      “I’ve got loads more, so don’t worry things will get boring in the bedroom anytime soon.”

      “And on that note, I’m fleeing for my sanity.”

      “Your tea’s done, so I sort of expected that.”

      “Yeah, I’m fairly predictable that way.  Think I can make it out the door this time?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Oh god, what now?”

      “Tell Sherlock to give me a call after you give him the good news.”

      “You _want_ to lose your hearing?”

      “Just do it, you horrible medic.  Smoothing out any problems before he actually does stroll in here is a smart strategy and I have a few things I need him to do for me, in any case”

      “Like what?”

      “Just a bit of shopping, so don’t get suspicious.  I’m here with borrowed clothes, someone else’s choice for personal products like shampoo, I’m using Mycroft’s reading specs… don’t worry, I’ll make it worth his time.  As always.”

Leering is not your most flattering look, Greg.  Oh, who am I kidding, it’s a _mesmerizing_ look and damn you for knowing it.

      “I’ll tell him, but there’s no guarantee he’ll pay it the slightest bit of attention.”

      “I have faith.  Now, feel free to leave.”

      “You’re the most polite man in the world.”

      “Good to know I’m tops at something.”

Making a shooing motion, Greg smiled at John and the very familiar two-fingered gesture John made before walking out of the kitchen at a much more sedate pace than he fled the bedroom.  Hearing the front door open and close, Greg laughed, then mentally chided himself for letting the part of him that was a pugnacious prat get the better of him.  John was a decent chap and didn’t deserve his nonsense, but he wasn’t going to let something as important as a true chance with Mycroft unravel because he didn’t have a good understanding of where everyone stood on the matter.  It was fine if John or Sherlock didn’t approve, that was their right and it was their right to tell that to Mycroft and him, but he’d just rather not be blindsided by anything.  Looked like good news, though, because Sherlock wouldn’t object, despite the inevitable monstrous amount of complaining, wailing and faked case of the vapors.  The lad had likely already fathomed a good bit of this out on his own and now could take full advantage of the opportunity for drama and drawing attention to himself.  He was a good boy that way.

Now, prepare a little tea for His Majesty and gather a few more of those beautiful daffodils.  Maybe there was something new peeking out today that would like brightening his Mycroft’s morning and they could join the daffodils on the tea tray.  And, after Sherlock called and got the shopping list, _he_ could see about continuing to brighten his Mycroft’s _evenings_.  Romance, nerve-shattering sex, relaxing entertainment… never let it be said that ol’ Greg wasn’t a well-rounded… boyfriend?  No, he was too fucking old to be someone’s boyfriend.  Suitor?  That was Victorian.  Lover?  A touch graphic, but since nobody else was around to hear it right now, lover it would be.  Ol’ Greg was a _very_ well-rounded lover.  Tend to the loving part very diligently and all the other parts with as much care and eagerness.  Tea, flowers, massage oil, handcuffs… his Mycroft deserved it all and so much more.  And wasn’t Mycroft lucky his new, well-rounded lover was absolutely thrilled to provide it…


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bird told me the wonderful [Titxutemari](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Titxutemari/pseuds/Titxutemari) and their friend are having a birthday today, so I wish them a grand one and many, many more!

      “Where is the defiler?”

Oh good, Sherlock was here.  If the day required a dramatic coda, it had well and truly arrived.

      “Gregory is in the fitness room.  You seem most feral today, Sherlock.  Are you hoping to provide a thrashing in defense of my honor?”

When he’d learned about his lover’s conversation with John, Mycroft had sent a small plea to the universe that Sherlock not fly into a stampeding rampage that he was not quite physically fit enough to manage, but his brother had, apparently, chosen a less-rampaging response to his and Gregory’s new dynamic.

      “You have none, apparently, to defend.”

      “Really?  I would have credited myself with, at least, a mote.  For instance, I instructed my driver just last month to wait and allow and elderly woman to cross the road ahead of us.  Verily, I am the soul of decency and valor.”

Sherlock’s scowl darkened and he stepped forward to hurl himself into the chair usually occupied by the aforementioned defiler.

      “You have been corrupted.”

      “Have I?  Strange, I would have imagined such a thing would tingle a bit, yet I have experienced nothing of the sort.  Perhaps the pain medication is masking the effects.”

      “You scarcely know him.”

      “Is duration of acquaintance correlated with degree of corruption?  Hmmm… I shall have the analysts broach the question and provide a thorough statistical overview of the topic.”

      “Why do you continue to treat this lightly?”

      “Because I have no idea why you are not.  Good heavens, Sherlock, it is as if I am your young and innocent child that you are attempting to shield from a sexual predator.”

      “Which is as near to the truth as one could imagine.”

When his brother was engaging in his standard practices of drama, Mycroft easily parried Sherlock’s colorful thrusts with one portion of his brain and allowed the remaining majority to concentrate on matters of actual importance.  However, the entirety of Sherlock’s being screamed that this _was_ a matter of importance that required the full of his attention, so full attention it would have.

      “Sherlock… are you truly worried for me?”

His brother’s lack of answer was, really, answer enough to Mycroft’s question.

      “Do you… do you not like Gregory?  I had rather thought that…”

      “Whether I do or do not ‘like’ him is immaterial.”

      “Oh, then what is?”

      “You.”

      “Well, I am highly aware of your liking of me, which amounts to naught, so I, again, am at a loss for your distress.”

Sherlock’s scowls came in a wide variety of flavors and colors, each duly cataloged over the years by his older brother, but this one was slightly difficult to define as it flitted between several variants and chose to settle on none of them.

      “What are your intentions towards him?”

That was a question that would _not_ receive a full and complete answer.  Cleaning melted Sherlock from the rug was not a task even the most industrious of cleaners would be able to manage.

      “I… I hope, if he is agreeable, to explore a relationship.  One that is mutually beneficial and rewarding.”

      “You make it sound like a trade agreement.”

      “Perhaps it is.  One gives of one’s self and receives like in trade.  Gregory… I have found him exceptionally companionable as well as caring, and I shall not lie and say the physical aspects that have begun are anything other than extremely satisfying.  It is nothing more or less than any man might want, might _intend_ when they meet a person who sparks their interest to such a degree.”

      “You have never done this before.”

      “If you are implying that this is the first romantic relationship into which I have entered, you are incorrect.”

      “I do not score the tepid associations that you have blundered through with convenient and interchangeable examples of the blandest men ever birthed.”

Ah… Sherlock recognized the rather staggering difference between Gregory and the typical men with whom he had dallied.  And, that difference seemed to worry him…

      “Do you feel that, in some manner, Gregory’s more colorful nature is inappropriate for a relationship with me?”

      “If you are not prepared for it, yes.”

Could it be… Sherlock actually had concern for his welfare?  Dear heavens, this was unprecedented!

      “Very well, by what criteria would you evaluate preparedness?”

      “Honest assessment of his attributes and flaws, realistic goals and expectations for your association, an accurate accounting of your own personal qualities and how they will coordinate with Lestrange’s.”

      “I see your lips moving, however, I hear Doctor Watson’s voice.”

      “John may have helped me with the phrasing, however, the points are mine.”

And good points they were.  Sherlock was _genuinely_ concerned… however, he would _not_ be concerned if he believed this an inconsequential fling.  Or one he hoped would fail miserably.  Highly interesting… might it be Sherlock supported the idea?

      “And I credit each one.  As for Gregory’s attributes and flaws, I have given substantial thought to both and while I find his attributes most satisfactory, I have not found his flaws to be of the sort I am unable to tolerate.  He has a reservoir of stubbornness that rivals your own and can be most forceful in the pursuit of his wants, however, he does not allow his pride to stand in the way of an honest apology when he has taken matters a step too far and, further, learns from his errors.  His ability to manipulate is striking for an otherwise forthright man and his entirely unfiltered conversation can be startling, at times.  However, he is intelligent, highly motivated, cultured, compassionate, possessed of a strong sense of humor and has shown a dedication to both my physical and mental health while I have been recuperating from my injury.”

Yes, do narrow your eyes and engage your most powerful observational skills, dear brother, but you shall find nothing amiss in either my words or my demeanor.  The pieces that are not for your knowledge are, and have been, so long locked away from your view that you would not recognize them if even they were fully presented for your calculations.

      “As for goals and expectations, my goal is to enjoy Gregory’s companionship and learn if that might grow into something long-lasting.  Not all promising beginnings continue in that vein and I am not blind to the fact.  I do expect turbulence, as well as calm for our proverbial voyage, examples aplenty already admitted into evidence, however, it is my hope that, for both, we shall work towards strengthening ties rather than allowing either friction or complacency to unravel the fibers.  As for my own qualities, I have found they mesh well with Gregory’s.  The peace and quiet I crave and nurture matches well with his desire for reading, watching films, simple conversation, in addition to his unique pursuits, such as his fitness regimen.  My intolerance for insipidity and dull-wittedness is not being strained for he is neither of those things.  I pride myself on tidiness and he is a tidy man, within reason…”

      “Does he know of your quivering anxieties?”

No, but thank you for hurling that into my face.

      “That has not been a topic of conversation, no, however… I have not suffered them as terribly of late.  Not that you would know, but that infirmity has diminished somewhat as I have aged, perhaps due to a well-practiced set of strategies for their management, but… there is a sense of solidity about Gregory that… it is difficult to say, but it soothes me…”

Which was nearly unfathomable, given the continues agitation I suffer in his presence, but it is of an entirely different nature than the typical unfocused anxieties through which I have battled all my life and held away from public eye only through immeasurable acts of will.

      “… At some point, the discussion will be had, however, for this single issue, I can attest that his presence is beneficial.  Also, with Gregory, I can be myself and not, as you are fond of saying, The British Government, and that, also, is soothing, as well as highly welcome.”

There.  Expectorate your disgust, at will.

      “That… is good.”

Pardon?

      “I… pardon?”

      “I will not repeat it.”

Which indicated utter sincerity on Sherlock’s part.  Good heavens, this was truly a day of days.  Hopefully, this astounding good fortune would not summon the devil himself to sully his sunshine with a rain of toads.

      “And I would not ask you to, in truth.  Thank you, Sherlock.  That, actually, is highly important to me.”

 _That_ scowl was a very familiar one.  It stated loudly his brother’s high level of discomfort at anything resembling brotherly emotion, especially when it was mutually-given.

      “I could not care less about that if I were dead.”

      “Of course.  Though, I would ask before you are lowered into your grave… if Gregory and I are successful in forming a relationship, would it have your support?”

      “What is on offer if I say yes?”

But you already have, brother dear, and we are both aware of the fact.  However, our traditional game will continue, though you have my heartfelt gratitude for both your approval and belief there exists a chance for something lasting between Gregory and me.

      “You mentioned recently needing a new centrifuge.”

      “And digital balance.”

      “Level of precision?”

      “Thousandth of a gram.”

      “I suppose it is an equitable deal.”

      “Already selling me into hard labor?”

There you are, my dear.  Looking excessively masculine and virile, at that.  And… sweaty.  Thank you most kindly for applying your kiss to my forehead without any further contact with your… non-sexual, musky wetness… for we all have limits and that skirts perilously close to mine.  However, you do wear the sweat-drenched look marvelously…

      “Yes, I regret to say.  Sherlock is a superlative negotiator and has won your indenture for his scientific investigations.”

      “Pfft… Lestrange offers me less than would a stoat.  Likely, actually, the stoat has a higher level of intelligence and scientific acumen.”

      “You could be right, lad.  Science wasn’t my best area in school and stoats are crafty buggers.  Did you get my togs?”

      “If I never enter those houses of horror again, it shall be too soon.”

      “Poor you, having to visit common people’s clothing shops.  I’m surprised you don’t have boils and sores from the infections and black magic that attacked you.”

Mycroft blinked, then blinked again in the particular rhythm that indicated his mind had to take a moment to reset.

      “Sherlock… shopped for clothing?”

      “It was agonizing.”

      “Well your agony has my thanks.  Sorry, love, but I really needed something to call my own on my back and I do very much like a certain brand of shampoo and other sundries.  Sherlock was nice enough to fill my shopping list and… did you get the lamb?”

      “Baaah.”

      “Yes!  We’re having a lovely lamb stew for dinner.  Forgot about that with the last grocery order.  Let me borrow your brother a moment to look over the clothes and stuff to make certain I remembered everything?”

      “Be my guest.  However, Doctor Watson will be most aggrieved if he is returned with his garments redolent of your post-exercise aroma.”

      “Really?  And here I was going to cozy up to this handsome lad and see what my manly redolence might do to brighten his day.”

      “It is of benefit to the universe that the two of you have melded into an unholy union because that spares every other life form the misery of potential contact with your presence.”

Greg grinned at Mycroft behind Sherlock’s back and breathed a small sigh of relief.  He’d hoped Sherlock would react positively to the news of his and Mycroft’s new status, but nothing in this world was ever certain.  Besides, there would surely be a conversation about the issue in the _very_ near future.  He’d be very disappointed with Sherlock if there wasn’t.

      “You think there’d be a prize for that or something.  Let’s go, Sherlock.  Maybe I’ll find a prize hiding in my pants or something.”

And with the filthiest wink he could muster for his lover, Greg linked his arm with Sherlock and walked the hotly protesting detective out of the bedroom.

      “Unhand me, you half-naked oaf!”

      “Oh, calm down.  My sweat’s mostly dry, so I won’t spoil your nice bespoke shirt.  Listen, did you make all my purchases?”

      “Ugh… must you waft your breath into my face?”

      “I don’t want Mycroft to hear.”

      “You have dragged me near to Hades and not even his hearing is that acute.”

      “We’re a yard from the bedroom.”

      “Given the appropriate dimensional rift, that could be sufficient.”

      “There’s that sciencey stuff again!  You must have won all those school science nights where you show the plants you fed motor oil or whatnot to try and get a medal.”

      “Why would I experiment with plants and motor oil when that outcome is so obvious it could be predicted by a sparrow?”

      “Why do mad scientists do anything?”

      “I am not mad.”

      “Got papers to prove it?”

      “I.. no.”

      “Then I can still be right.  Now, back to important things… did you get it?”

      “I feel violated.”

      “John’ll be happy to help you with that, so answer the question.  Did you?”

      “The box was… red.  It shrieked its perversity in ear-shattering tones.”

      “And everyone you ran across probably thought your special person was lucky to have a sweet thing like you bringing home a big box of fun.  Did you peek?”

      “I would rather put out my eyes with razor blades.”

      “I’ll assume not, then.  I did try to be considerate, lad, and called ahead to have everything packaged so you didn’t have to lose your eyeballs.”

      “I am still recovering from the trauma.”

      “Want to join your brother in the bed?  I can prepare two meal trays as easily as one.”

      “If someone was not required to properly supervise your ongoing affiliation with Fatcroft, I would hurl myself from yon window and gladly embrace the sweet death from the flagstones below.”

Supervise… the boy intended to keep an eye on things, did he?  Good.  Little brother making certain big brother was treated properly.  Not a thing to complain about with that.

      “Very gothic of you.  Want one of those long white gowns to wear, so it’ll billow tragically while you plummet?”

      “That is not an entirely asinine suggestion.”

      “I try.  Alright, then… got my clothes, got my lamb, got my soap and one or two little things to enjoy once the house mice go to bed.  I am a happy man.”

Oh yes… perfect ‘sizing you up’ glare mixed with the ‘this is going to kill me but I have to say it anyway’ purse of the lips.  Here we go…

      “And will you ensure Mycroft is happy, also?”

Yes!  Oh, Sherlock, I knew you had it in you, you evil little bastard…

      “What’s it to you?”

Ooh… nice fiery flash in the eyes.  I’m so proud right now, Sherlock, you just don’t know…

      “Mycroft has had precious little time in his life for anything as banal as a relationship and I would not see that lack of opportunity… end poorly.”

      “And, if it does?”

You took a step towards me!  Brilliant!

      “I shall not be pleased.”

      “So?”

And another!  This is going better than expected!

      “I will express my displeasure… enthusiastically.”

You hurt him and I hurt you!  Oh, it’s Christmas…

      “Well… in that case…”

Greg took Sherlock in a big hug that had the younger man shrieking like a schoolchild who’d found sweets in his lunch sack.

      “… I’ll make certain that you’ve got no reason to bloody my nose.  Mycroft… he’s a special one and I’m going to do whatever I’m able to make him happy.  Maybe one day it won’t be enough or what continues to make him smile, but it won’t be because I stopped trying.  I promise you that, alright?  Is that ok?”

      “If I say yes, will you cease this molestation!”

      “I will.”

      “Then, fine.  For the time being, I will assume your intentions are noble, however, I shall not relax my vigilance.  Consider this your only warning.”

      “I stand warned.  Now, I’m off to shower with my new bath supplies, start my new clothes washing and make a bite of lunch.  Will you stay?”

      “What are you desecrating?”

      “A couple of enormous salads with sautéed chicken and some lovely vegetables with a citrusy drizzle.  There is more than enough for two and Mycroft would enjoy the company.”

      “I suppose even you could not fail with so simple a preparation.”

      “Oh, you’d be surprised at what I can fail at, but I think this will go smoothly.  I’ll take care of everything, so why don’t you see if Mycroft has enough water or maybe a little juice?”

      “I am not your servant.”

      “Ever thought about cock plugs, Sherlock?”

      “I… no.  Should I?”

      “Take care of your brother and I’ll let you know.”

Sherlock darted back towards the bedroom and Greg grinned widely at the success of his mission.  Yes, getting some things of his own was important and getting some things to treat his Mycroft like a king was _also_ important, but… knowing Sherlock’s mind on all of this was _especially_ important and all of that was now checked off the list.  Mycroft _was_ special, that much was certain.  Things fit properly and felt right.  It was too soon, though, far too soon, to think about the future and what it might bring, but it was _not_ too soon to start daydreaming a little about that sort of thing.  He’d started this adventure with nothing but a daydream, so continuing on that way could only be considered a smart plan.

In fact, he might make a start on that now.  The shower was a brilliant place to have a little daydream about his gorgeous Mycroft and how amazing he’d look with a blindfold and matching cloth binding those pale, slender wrists to the very conveniently-constructed headboard.  Nothing but the best for His Majesty… that was a vow that was stupidly simple to make…


	21. Chapter 21

      “How’s your book, love?”

      “Excellent, actually.  There are few treatments of the Etruscan government and its intricacies that merit reading and this one is certainly a rival for the best of the lot.  And yours?”

      “Poirot is just about ready to make that filthy murderer regret their murderous ways.”

      “Law and order is satisfied.  I highly approve.”

One warm and filling dinner, a small glass of wine that John certainly didn’t need to know about and his Mycroft looked as content as a cat near the hearth.  He was _amazingly_ sexy when he was contented…

      “Gregory… you are staring.”

      “I know.  I call it gazing, though.”

      “Ah, I stand corrected.”

      “It’d be nice to have a little kiss from the focus of my gaze.”

      “Oh my.  Well, that is a request I certainly cannot deny.”

Mycroft set down his book and smiled as Greg carefully re-positioned so he could take Mycroft’s lips in a warm, lingering kiss that left both men wondering how they had survived without this in their lives.

      “You are an incredibly sexy man, Mycroft Holmes.  Elegant, sensual, gorgeous… you have no idea how breathtaking you are lying there.  Your face in profile while you read your book… I could stare at it for hours.”

Hoping the rapid-fire beating of his heart wasn’t visible through his pyjama top, Mycroft did his best to smile provocatively at the man who _did_ appear as if he could gaze upon him the rest of the night and be perfectly happy to do nothing else.

      “Only stare?  That seems a rather poor use of your time.”

      “I see.  My Mycroft wants a little something else?”

      “I have come to a suitable stopping point in my book, so filling the remaining time before I sleep with something slightly more… enriching… is not the worst of ideas.”

      “I agree wholeheartedly, and what my Mycroft wants, my Mycroft gets.  Give me a moment to… just give me a moment.”

With a final kiss, Greg shuffled off the bed and made a ‘just one second’ gesture to Mycroft as he darted out of the bedroom, though Mycroft didn’t have long to ponder his behavior as Greg was back in under a minute with a medium-sized red box in his hand and a wide grin on his lips.

      “Had Sherlock collect a few things for me while he was shopping that weren’t clothes.  I called the order in, using a fake name, don’t worry, and told them it’d be picked up by my assistant.  Don’t tell Sherlock that part or he’ll go loony and that lad doesn’t need more loony in his life.”

Rather than chide Greg over the breach of security, Mycroft found himself feeling somewhat… eager… to learn the outcome of said security breach, since… red box.  There really wasn’t much doubt as to the nature of items that arrived in a sumptuous red box.

      “And what might you have acquired, Mr. Lestrange?”

      “Oh… this and that.  First, though, let’s make you more comfortable, shall we?”

With that smile, Gregory, you may have free reign to do whatever you believe making me comfortable entails.  It is utterly enchanting…

      “Be my guest.”

Smiling even more seductively, Greg set down the box and made cautious work of removing Mycroft from his pyjamas and laying his lover down on the bed with a plump pillow beneath his head.

      “Better?”

      “I am incalculably comfortable, Gregory.  Thank you.”

      “Perfect.  Now, let’s see… yes, blue was the right choice…”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes as Greg gave him a little nod, reached into his box and drew out two long lengths of cloth in a rich, satiny blue.

      “No blue could be as lovely as the color of your eyes, but this will be stunning against your skin.”

Now, Mycroft’s brilliantly-blue eyes were wide and his arousal was beginning to rise sharply.  Gregory was… indescribable…

      “Mind if I give those eyes a rest, love?”

Mind?  My quiescent loins will never forgive you if you do not.

      “Not at all.”

Gently cradling Mycroft’s head, Greg tied a snug blindfold around his lover’s eyes and checked that it was neither too tight nor too loose before stepping back and taking a long, admiring breath.

      “Beautiful.  And, because I am an advocate of coordinated outfits…”

If he wasn’t sinking into the experience, Mycroft might have been a bit embarrassed at the small moan he released as Greg bound his wrists and affixed them to the headboard of their bed.

      “There’s no one like you, Mycroft.  So fantastic…”

Greg ran his fingers along Mycroft’s body from his throat down his chest and along one of his lover’s thighs, grinning brightly at the shudder that rippled through Mycroft’s body from his touch.

      “… and so mine.  I protect what’s mine and take care of what’s mine, too.  I _will_ take care of you, Mycroft.  Make you feel wonderful and that’s all I want you to do right now – feel.  Just lay there quietly and feel.  Tell me, though if something seems wrong, because we want that business with your side to have as pleasant time tonight as the rest of you.”

And pleasant was the _only_ thing on Greg’s mind, so wasn’t it fortunate that his Mycroft was smiling a smile that said he was in that happy, pleasurable place already.  This was a privilege, really, and Greg had full intention of making the most of this privilege.  And, if he had his Mycroft begging and moaning like _he_ was in the filthiest adult film ever made, then so much the better.

      “Good.  Now, I can play as much as I like with this body of yours and for as long as I like. There’s so very much to play with, as well, isn’t there?  Those long legs, which go very nicely with your long cock, I have to say, and this perfect belly.  Really, it’s just a thing of loveliness.  I’ve got myself the finest toy to play with the world has ever seen and I’m going take full advantage of that.  Remember, though… just lay there quietly.”

Quietly, though, was a fairly relative concept, since his Mycroft made the most erotic, cock-stiffening noises when he was stimulated.  Small, soft gasps and moans that Greg could listen to all night and be a satisfied man.  It was a thrill, an honest thrill, to run hands along the milky skin and gain a symphony of sound as his reward.  And didn’t Mycroft’s lips look positively kissable when he moaned?  Definitely time to take a taste…

Taking Mycroft’s mouth hard, Greg mentally grinned that his direction to lay quietly fell apart as his lover’s body contorted to try and take the kiss even deeper, something which earned him Greg’s fist gathering a handful of hair to grip and pull with slowly increasing pressure until Mycroft’s loud moan broke through their kiss and Greg nipped his lip in reply.  Then added another reply in a rough and slightly menacing tone that was guaranteed to put a shiver down his lover’s spine.

      “Lay quietly, Mycroft and remember who’s in control here.”

Because I just want you to swim in a big ocean of pleasure and not have to think about a single thing while I make you happy.  I’ll make a mental note, too, about how much pressure you like when your hair is pulled.  Giving you that bit of sensation when you’re on your knees sucking my cock, should curl your toes quite nicely.

      “That’s my good boy.  I expect you to stay good for me, though, so do _not_ disappoint.”

The desperate-to-burst-out, full-body stretch of arousal!  You couldn’t ask for better than that!  Now, time for some experimentation into what sent his dear Mycroft’s nerves completely into the red zone.  Experimentation was fun and he was even collecting data!  Take that, Sherlock…

Slowly working his way down Mycroft’s body, Greg licked, kissed, bit, pinched and rubbed, filing away all the results to work on refining his technique over time.  Because this was utterly phenomenal… his Holmes’s body was so responsive, spoke it’s needs and wants so loudly and clearly that they were impossible to miss.  Right nipple adores a firm, hard bite, left nipple prefers a combination of light lapping and gentle nibbles… one long lick up from the navel makes his Mycroft struggle mightily to stay still… a solid, prolonged pinch right above where the legs met the torso started his lover’s thighs quivering as he held back cocking his legs up to expose other body areas that were desperate for attention… scores of little things learned that would serve to continue making Mycroft a blissful boy for a long time to come.

      “Wonderful, love.  I’m so proud of you.  Doing exactly what I told you to do and doing it well.  I think that deserves a little something special. I’m going to walk away for minute, but only for a minute and I’ll never be out of earshot if you need me.”

And, now, dash to the loo to get a flannel, wet it well with very warm water, and dash back before it cools down.

      “Excellent.  I’m going to raise your legs a bit and I want you to keep your feet flat on the mattress.  If anything hurts with your injury, tell me immediately.”

Raise those luscious legs and spread them open so I can get to the lovely bits you’ve been longing for me to touch.  If there’s anyone in the world sexier than you, Mycroft, I pity them, because they surely can’t have a moment’s peace in life, what with being chased all the time by admirers…

      “There we are.  Oh… so gorgeous.”

And aren’t you the more gorgeous when you’re trembling from feeling both exposed _and_ aroused…

      “Remember to stay still and quiet, Mycroft.”

Which, with the first touch of the warm, wet flannel on your bollocks, is visibly difficult for you.  Perfect.  Just focus on your single, simple direction and keep that brain of yours clear so there’s more room for all the sexy sensations running up your nerves.  Giving your bits a gentle warm wash, which makes you feel even _more_ exposed and aroused, then… ha!   Time for _the voice_ again.

      “That is _not_ what I told you to do.  Put your legs back where I set them.”

Drawing your knees up nearly to your chin!  You randy bastard… you want that lovely arsehole tended to, don’t you?  I will… in time.  First things first though…  yes!  Blowing lightly on those warmed bollocks is a shivery delight, isn’t it my sweet Mycroft…

      “Much better.  So fresh and clean… needs a taste test to make certain though, don’t you agree?”

Nestle my head right in there and roll those big, beautiful plums into my mouth for a bit of sucking and careful tugging, which I just knew you would like when it’s done properly.  Slow and steady and, if you’re wired to enjoy it, that pleasure goes right up through your center and settles below your navel where it makes you purr like a cat.  And isn’t that little flow of pre-cum just shiny and glistening and calling me to taste that, too?  It certainly is and my Mycroft is so gracious to make that for me, even with his flag at half mast…

      “Delicious.  You’re absolutely delicious and I can’t wait until you’re healed and I can tie you down for an evening with a snug ring around that cock and balls of yours so I can have my fun for a few hours while you make lots of fluidy deliciousness for me to sip when I finally let you come.”

Oh, you like that idea, don’t you, love?  Biting your lip so you don’t say anything and disappoint me.  You’ll get it, don’t worry.  Whatever you want, whatever you need, you _will_ get and I’ll work my arse off to make certain it’s exactly the way you want it, too.

      “Now… Iet’s see what else there is for me to play with.  Oh, this looks interesting…”

Just the lightest brush of my finger over your arsehole and you shiver like you’re outside naked on a winter’s day.  The fun we’re going to have, Mycroft… there’s absolutely no end to it…

      “You seem to think so, too.  And, I know just what I want to do with that…”

Actually, I know _scads_ of things I want to do with that, but you’re too hurt for a lot of them, so I’ll choose something easier on the rest of your body, but is certain to make my little puckered friend, and someone else hiding behind him, giddy with glee.  And, if we’re very lucky, and I do feel lucky tonight, my Mycroft might just see a few stars in the bargain.

Continuing to lightly stroke his new plaything, Greg rummaged in his box of surprises and took out a few items that were perfect for a quiet night at home.  Admittedly, a rubber glove wasn’t the warmest and most human-feeling of things, but the loud snap when he put it on gave his Mycroft the startled gasp he was hoping for and set his lover trembling harder because of all the images that were currently racing through his mind about it being used.  Being very obedient about matters, though, and keeping his feet where they were planted, though they were both arching slightly with the desire to lift and make his body as open and accessible as possible.  One day, that would be exactly what Greg wanted, but that was not good for his lover’s health right now, so flat on mattress they would stay.  Better put another two pieces of cloth nearby, though, just in case those ankles had to join Mycroft’s wrists in being bound to the bed…

      ‘Hmmm… I wonder if you’re as warm and soft on the inside as you are on the outside?  Suppose I’ll have to feel to find out…”

I’ll let that deep and throaty moan go without comment because I am one-hundred percent certain you don’t even know you made it.  It’ll be my cock inside you one day, Mycroft, I promise, because that’s something you want badly, don’t you?  Spend a long, languid time stretching you out, then fucking you until we’re both screaming with need… not everyone wants that, but _you_ do.  That want is dripping out of you like the little pearls of nectar your cock is giving me and your wants are _my_ orders to follow…

      “Very nice… warm and cozy… your arse sucked in my finger like it was desperate for it, which is the truth, isn’t it?  Desperate for something else, really, I think.  Tell me what you really want inside you, Mycroft.”

And I’ll thrust a little harder so you can’t hide from the answer, even if you wanted to.

      “Y… your cock.”

      “I see… I’ll think about it and, if you continue to please me, I might let you have your wish one day.”

Listen to that needy whine… your mind is an incredibly filthy place right now, isn’t it, love.  You’re already imagining me fucking you senseless and almost living the experience, even though it’s just my finger moving in and out of you.  And, with that incredible brain of yours, those thoughts are probably as real as real can be.  I wonder how it’s going to cope when we go just a tad further… time, I believe, to say hello to someone I’ll be making fast friends with very soon… oooohhhh... that’s a gorgeous moan and aren’t you a naughty boy trying to pull me in with that tight ring of muscles to play with your happy spot a little more.  Time to move things along, I think… especially since those whines are getting louder and louder…

      “Listen to how loud you are.  Someone’s begging me, which isn’t exactly following instructions, but it’s such a pretty song, I won’t chastise you for it.  In fact, it’s _so_ pretty, I think I’d like to hear more of it.”

Which begins precisely… now… since I’ve drawn my finger out and left you slick and empty and very unhappy about the fact.

      “Now now… trust me to take care of you, alright.  I’ll always take care of you.  Try to relax and let me do what I want to do.”

And that would be lubing up something else besides a finger so it would slip right inside his Mycroft’s arse and, now that he’d shaken hands, so to speak, with his lover’s pleasure button, nestle this little fellow right over it to drive his beautiful man thoroughly insane.

      “Here we go… see?  Something going in to keep you filled.  Not as filled as I know you’d like, but when you’re better, we’ll see about stretching that arse wide with my thick, hard cock.  And it _is_ hard, too.  I’ll have to do something about that at some point…”

But, right now, I’m here for _you_.  And your voice is so adorably confused right now, since you’re not sure what’s coming, but you’re also not sure you _care_ as long as I keep your pert and exquisite arse as happy as it can be.

      “Feeling better?  Good.  Now, and I know this will be hard, but I want you to stay very, very still for me.  No wriggling, no writhing… you can make all the sounds you’d like, but stay as still as you can.  Here we go…”

And, one little flick of the switch is all it takes to have Mycroft’s voice shrieking like a banshee’s because, in point of fact, a vibrator getting right to work on the prostate _can_ be a little shocking if you’re not entirely anticipating it and the controls are in the hands of a complete bastard.

      “That’s my love… look at you struggling to lie still.  Very, _very_ good Mycroft.  Such a magnificent voice you have, too.  You beg so perfectly, just the right tone, the perfect amount of need… I think I’ll play with _that_ awhile now and, if I’ve a mind for it, I may even see that you come, but I expect a spirited performance to thank me for that little present.”

And, by play, I mean use our new toy to bring you as close to weeping for release as I can.  Slow it down, speed it up… alternate those in a maddening rhythm that keeps you continuously moaning and begging me to come, which this sort of fun _can_ make you do, even if your cock isn’t ready to stand at attention yet.  Just have to find the right combination of this and that without overstimulating you or making you sore.  You’re so unbelievably responsive, though, that reading your signals isn’t really that difficult.  Wonder what a little extra attention will do for you… your cock isn’t very hard, but it’s totally suckable and I’ve wanted to do that for… an embarrassingly long time.  The nerves in there might not be at their best right now, but your mind is going to love it and that’s all you really need…

Taking Mycroft’s cock into his mouth, Greg grinned around the morsel of flesh hearing his name nearly-yelled by his lover who began a long series of incoherent syllables that started to escalate in pitch and frequency the more Greg sucked and used his tongue to tantalize and tease, finally reaching a point in intensity that had Greg leaving the vibrator set precisely where it had triggered this rush and using his thumb behind Mycroft’s balls to add a little hard rubbing for the final shove that had Mycroft groaning loudly between tightly-clenched teeth and earning Greg an, all things considered, admirable splash of semen in his mouth for his troubles.

Turning off the vibrator and changing tactics to simply lick Mycroft’s cock while an aftershock or two made his lover gasp in pleasure, Greg then laid kisses over the miles of creamy skin skin as he carefully moved up his body to unbind his lover’s wrists and remove his blindfold.

      “Look at those gorgeous eyes.  Happy, love?”

Mycroft’s glazed and unfocused vision slowly settled on Greg’s face and the small twitch of his lips had Greg leaning down and softly kissing his partner further back to the here and now.

      “I… oh, Gregory…”

      “Yeah, someone’s happy and…”

The quick check for any worrying ooze seeping through the bandage on Mycroft’s side confirmed that their bit of non-doctor-approved games hadn’t hurt his lover and Greg breathed a small sigh of relief before turning back to smile gently at the man still grasping to pull all the threads of his mind together.

      “… in one piece!  You are _stunning_ , Mycroft.  Mesmerizing, really.  I’ve never known anyone as purely intoxicating as you and I could spend all night simply looking at you and never regret a second of it.”

Continuing to kiss his lover and tenderly rub his wrists and arms, Greg adored the tiny, contented sighs that flowed out of Mycroft in a nearly continuous stream.

      “Gregory?”

      “Yes, love?”

      “I…”

      “Hmmmm?”

      “That was…”

      “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Mycroft had no idea how to answer that question.  There were no words for it, not in any language.  All his sexual life he’d had lovers who were attracted to his own dominant persona and assumed it was also his persona in the bedroom, none ever allowing him to simply float in a pool of sensation… none ever allowing him simply to _experience_.  And, in truth, it was all he had ever wanted.  Not every day, not every round of lovemaking, but… many.  And this was the man who had identified, birthed, really, that desire in him so many years ago.  This was the man, also, who finally brought that desire to life and embraced it gladly.

      “I… yes.  A thousand times yes.”

      “Good.  I’m here to please you, so we’ll talk about things to be certain that what I do _always_ pleases you and gives you what you need.”

      “You… _you_ please me.”

      “Thank you, love.  You please me, too.  I can’t even begin to describe it, no matter how hard I try.  I’ll free our little toy, what say, then clean you up and we can see about relaxing awhile before bed?  How does that sound?”

      “What… what about you?”

      “What about me?”

Mycroft reached out and rubbed Greg’s stiff cock through the actor’s trousers and looked longingly into Greg’s eyes while his rubbing began to follow a very pointed pattern.

      “I would see you satisfied as well, my dear.”

      “You’re too good to me, Mycroft.  Want me to give you a very special private performance?”

      “I would rather satisfy you myself.”

      “That might be difficult, what with your side and the fact that your bones have turned to liquid.”

Mycroft had to concede the point, but that didn’t stop him letting his tongue peek out of his mouth and wiggle in a deliberate come-hither motion.

      “Ah ha… alright, you lay there while your bones regrow and I’ll lose these trousers, lean over here… perfect.  You use that wicked tongue of yours on what it can reach and I’ll handle the rest myself.  Teamwork!”

Something that sounded utterly marvelous to Mycroft and, as soon as Greg was in position, he swirled his tongue around head of Greg’s cock, feeling very proud of himself that his lover swore with a word that only the most vulgar members of society were supposed to know.

      “Fuck, but that feels good… that… yeah, keep doing that and I’ll… oh yes, suck, too, just like that… I’ll stroke and… god yes, rub my bollocks, you’ve got perfect… more… more with that filthy tongue of yours, love… ummmmm… suck some more… and more… fuck me but… I’m close, Mycroft… just a little more… little little little more… _yes_ …

Greg drew back just slightly so he decorated Mycroft’s face with his semen and reveled in the fact that Mycroft smiled with both pride and satisfaction at wearing his lover’s pleasure.

      “Dangerous… you are a fucking dangerous man to me, Mycroft.  That… I normally don’t come that fast!  Like I’m a spotty teen just learning what his cock is for!  You set me on fire, Mycroft Holmes, and I am completely wrapped around your little finger.  So fucking magnificent…”

Unmindful of the splashes on his partner’s lips, Greg gave his lover a deep, soul-searing kiss, then a whisper-soft one on Mycroft’s forehead, before reaching down to draw the vibrator out of a very limp and satisfied body.

      “Give me a minute to get a fresh flannel to make you nice and clean?”

      “I suppose I can suffer your absence for one minute.  But no more.”

      “Of course, sir.  I’ll be right back, Your Highness.”

Watching his Gregory dart off to complete his mission, Mycroft closed his eyes and simply breathed, savoring the quiet in his mind.  Quiet and contentment, two things that were _not_ typical for him.  But, then, Gregory was not typical for him, either.  Long cherished, craved and fantasized about, but certainly not typical.  There were no others like Gregory Lestrange and… there did not need to be.  The sheer pleasure in his lover’s own voice during their play was profound and where there was pleasure… there was a desire to stay.  And he did, so very greatly, want Gregory to stay. Stay in his life and in his bed… it was a selfish want, perhaps, but if so, Gregory was just as selfish… the emotion in his eyes was the such dreams were made of and Gregory was not the type to walk away from his dreams… 


	22. Chapter 22

Oh… oh dear…

“Hurting a little, love?I worried about that actually.Forgot to give you your pill before you fell asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake you to take it.Here, just lay quietly and I’ll get one for you.”

Yes, that would be most appreciated for there was certainly a somewhat riotous level of protest in his body at the moment against the idea of moving and that would certainly not make his day a productive one, should the situation remain unchanged.Wasn’t his Gregory a perceptive man to recognize that fact.

“Here you are… and your water… there.Good morning, Mr. Holmes.Did you, at least, sleep well?”

Like the most contented infant in its cozy crib.

“Very well, thank you, my dear.And… oh, rather lengthily, it seems.”

The numbers on the clock were certainly not what he was used to seeing when waking in the morning.Given his mobile had not alerted him to the outbreak of a global cataclysm, the extra two hours was truly a gift.

“It’s good for you; the best healing goes on when you’re sleeping so the more the better.Feeling anything other than what you might expect for not having your pain pill last night?”

Your eyes are so rich with concern, Gregory, that I could simply stare into them and feel any distress vanish like a ghost.

“None that I notice.You were most attentive last night.”

And do caress my cheek lovingly while you smile your shy and luminous smile…

“Always will be, too.For everything.It’s my way, I suppose, keeping an eye on the people who are important to me.Make sure they’re safe and well...”

Should he?It was certainly an opportune time…

“And am I to assume I am now a member of that rather exalted group?”

What your smile does to me, Gregory Lestrange, it scarcely bears mentioning…

“Oh yes.There’s no doubt about that.Not something I would ever have expected, given the way we met, but strange things happen in this world and I’m not one to look down my nose on a fantastic thing just because it got off on a strange foot.”

He was important!There was no hesitancy in that declaration or any sign of duplicity in Gregory’s face or body language.Verily, the vagaries of life had, for once, done him a kindness and his appreciation of that boon was incalculable.Hopefully Sherlock would not pick today to ask for his own vial of smallpox, for he might not have the sternness of heart reject the request.And, speaking of the family’s plague-carrier…

“Then we are of like mind.And, to my great relief, you have already met Sherlock and not done your utmost to reduce him to a rather bloody heap of curls and insults.That is a feat worth mentioning for it stands as incontrovertible testament to both your fortitude and patience.”

“HA!Oh, he’s a unique lad, but they’re the best, really, the unique ones.Just have to know how to handle them, something, I suspect, you’ve got one of those advanced degrees in.”

“I instruct a class in the subject at one of London’s finest colleges.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that in the least!Sherlock’s a good one and lucky as fuck to find someone like John.That’s a successful pair if I’ve ever seen one.Want to have them stop in, say, tomorrow night for a visit?I’ll cook something special and we can see if they’ve come to accept that we old men still have enough youth in our veins to get up to sexy mischief.”

Sherlock would be apoplectic.What a cheerful thought!

“By all means, I think it is a marvelous idea.And…”

“Yes?”

“Do you believe it within the realm of possibility that our entertaining might occur in the dining room?”

Let us see if I have any skill at affecting sad, pleading toddler eyes.Gregory is the undisputed master of the tactic, but even a subpar showing might have _some_ impact…

“Oh… someone anxious to go on a stroll?”

Your fortifications are cracking, Gregory.I can hear the mortar crumbling.

“Somewhat.”

The stones and timbers are shaking the ground as they plummet down upon it.

“I understand that.And… how about this afternoon?Rest a little more, get another pain pill into your poor system and then we can give it a go.I’d not be so concerned, but the stairs are going to be difficult for you.And I’ll know if they’re _too_ difficult, so don’t fucking think about lying to me if that’s the case.Touring your own house, which you know fairly well already, I suspect, isn’t worth hurting yourself over.”

Victory!Small and rather nefariously gained, but victory nonetheless!

“I will be scrupulously honest about my condition.”

“That’s all I ask.Now, do you want your present?”

Will this day never cease to bring delight?

“A present?I most certainly do!”

Lestrade grinned widely and reached to the floor at the foot of the bed, peeking over the mattress to look this way and that before springing to his feet.

“Ta Dah!Work!”

The delight has well and truly ceased.

“Gregory, you are a dastardly creature.”

“I know.But I wear it well.These came by messenger while you were still sleeping and I had to use my _special_ talents to get the woman to leave them here without delivering them to you personally, but I wasn’t going to let you be disturbed while you needed your rest.I got scolded for a good ten minutes that if I tampered with anything or tried to sneak a peek, I’d be prosecuted for espionage or treason or cat theft or something, so don’t think she shirked her job and have her sacked because of it.I made certain to seem very frightened by the prospect, too, so I think she was satisfied.Don’t know what she was going on about though.There’s nothing in here that’s very interesting.”

Oh no…

“Gregory, you cannot possibly tell me you read the contents of these files.”

“Ok…”

“But you did.”

“Yeah.”

“How on Earth… the seals are intact!”

“Pretty good, am I right?

The man’s talents were varied and diverse, though, some were best left unremarked for the sake of both sanity and national security.

“Gregory… you must promise me, with your most solemn vow, never again to examine government documents.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, upon that I must insist.As we are to spend bountiful quantities of time together, I must have your promise that matters of my work are for my eyes alone.”

“Even if they’re exciting?”

“Even then.”

“It’ll be hard…”

“I have full confidence you can rise to the challenge.”

Especially given the glow of excitement in your eyes upon my use of the term ‘bountiful’ in association with our time together.

“I’ll do my best.”

“And you will demonstrate how you breached the seal of these envelopes.”

“Nope.”

“Gregory!”

“I’m a man of mystery.”

“You are a man of….”

“Sexiness?Glamor?Culinary excellence?Freshly brushed teeth?”

“Befuddlement and infuriation.”

“Ooh, I like those!Sounds very posh.And mysterious.”

Mycroft threw up his hands, which Greg snatched in the air to place a kiss in the center of each palm, most specifically as an apology for the wince of pain Mycroft made after his gesture.

“Driving you mental?”

“I believe I am already there.”

“Fancy a cup of tea to soothe the pain of mentalness?”

“I would.”

“A bit of toast?”

“That would be lovely.”

“Jam?”

“Honey.”

“Being a bit wild this morning, are we?”

“It is a manifestation of my mentalness.”

“Pesky thing that.Luckily, you’ve got excellent honey, so the wildness will be worth the effort.”

“And, I believe, slivers of ripe melon.”

“Put some color in cheeks, ripe melon will.I’ll lay them out nicely, too, because I know you prize tidy slivers.”

“Very well.I suppose, now, I’d best make a start on my very thoughtful present.Your take on the situation?”

“Nothing that’ll vex that tremendous brain of yours.Bit of bother in Central America, but mostly sounds like saber-rattling by some of those rebel types.Not the ones who’re trying to help the poor or the indigenous people, but the ones who’re simply trying to take the place of the ones they’re rebelling against so _they_ can do the oppressing and get rich off of it.”

A body that was worshipped by legions of admirers _and_ a clever mind… you, Gregory  Lestrange, are the dangerous one, but I have never backed away from danger and have no intention of starting now.

“A succinct and, likely, correct analysis.If that is the case, I shall have matters sorted in only a few hours and that will leave me free to begin my adventures beyond the threshold of the bedroom.I can scarcely contain my anticipation.”

“Well, do your best, because anticipation is a bugger to wash out of a bedsheet.I’ll be back in a minute with your breakfast.”

Greg grinned at Mycroft’s rolled eyes and laid a quick kiss on his lips before skipping like a six-year old out of the bedroom, while Mycroft took pleasure watching how his bottom moved when his legs were performing said skipping.Truly a thing of beauty is a joy forever and… well, forever was a concept that was starting to grow in relevance at the edges of his mind.Perhaps his lifelong infatuation was clouding his judgment and that was not a thing he would for a moment discount, but… could a person know, simply _know_ when they had found that single, most special person?The one who fit so naturally into your life that you had no idea how they had slid seamlessly into your days and enriched each one in countless, remarkable ways.It appeared he might have the chance to find out and that was something else, _besides_ a trip down his  staircase, that filled him with anticipation… one that even his honey-fueled wildness could not overshadow…

__________

Greg smiled at Mycroft who was, in a fairly astounding display of contrast, beaming in pleasure and frowning sorrowfully as the last bite of his poached pear went into his mouth and the chef mentally patted himself on the back at a job well done.His Mycroft had been progressing _very_ nicely and this was the second day in a row they’d eaten all their meals downstairs, at a table, like normal, non-bullet scarred individuals.It had taken a couple of days of mixing time in bed with time _not_ in bed for his Mycroft to gain the strength for resuming something of a normal schedule, though going in to his office was still off limits for now.It had been a fierce point of contention and that particular argument was only won because _three_ voices were happy to clearly and loudly state their objections, with various degrees of profanity, and even Mycroft had to concede that if he couldn’t muster the energy to win the argument against three people sitting at his own dining table, it might not quite be time to face larger and stupider groups of people, like politicians.

But, lots of rest, lots of gentle, yet volcanically-hot sex, and short bouts of walking and helping with household tasks had his Holmes with a great deal more spring in his step and poised to actually have a full day out of bed tomorrow to work in his study.That is, if he could convince his lover to actually make his way to bed _tonight_.

“You can’t have a long, pleasant day of governmental drudgery tomorrow if you’re awake half the night tonight, love.”

“And, I do not intend such a thing.I simply have certain issues that require my attention and those must be dealt with in a timely fashion.I fully plan to see our bed warmed with my body heat sooner than later, however, the desire to do such a thing cannot divert me from my duty.”

“That sounded very professional.”

“Thank you. I practiced it while you were obtaining the crème fraiche to accompany our pears.”

“Even more professionalism!I’m a lucky man… and this lucky man is now going to tend to the washing up while you make a start on that timely-fashion business of yours.I’ll even go upstairs and read in bed so my sexiness is far enough from your senses that you don’t get distracted.”

“Your gracious gesture is duly noted.”

“Got the pillow for your chair?”

“I do and it is properly plumped for maximum comfort.”

“Good.Don’t want you leaning against that fuck-all expensive leather backing and it not giving you the softness you need.Speaking of need, don’t hesitate to yell for me if you don’t feel well or want something from the kitchen.I’ll leave the bedroom door open so I’ll hear your tortured screams fairly clearly.”

All his life he had fantasized about this man.Obsessed over him, staged countless mental plays with this man in the starring role.None, not a single one, offered the sheer joy that the true Gregory Lestrange had brought to his heart.Or the bone-shattering arousal Gregory brought to his bed.Dear heavens, what the man could do with a strap of leather and an ice cube was otherworldly…

__________

When even his repeated pillow plumping couldn’t make sitting comfortable, Mycroft decided a small break and slow amble to the kitchen for a restoring cup of tea was quite the solution to his ills.And, no, there would be no tortured screams for his Gregory to do the deed fro him.He was a fully-grown, ambulatory man and he could prepare his own cup of tea.The fact that it was much more delicious when Gregory did the preparing was entirely beside the point…

__________

Mycroft walked his cup of tea back towards his study then stopped a moment to look into his sitting room which was shrouded in shadows and thick with the usual late-night darkness.It was perfectly as normal.Except not at all.There was an indefinable difference in the pattern of the uninterrupted black that shot every one his nerves to a state of high alert.

“Since you are in my home at what is a very inhospitable hour of the night, might I ask the courtesy of speaking to you in a more face-to-face fashion?”

Part of the blackness separated from the rest and into a patch of moonlight to reveal a tall, blond man with a scar across his cheek.The smile that broke out on his lips showed far more teeth than a human should possess.

“Sebastian Moran.”

“You recognize me?I’m flattered Mr. Holmes.Now, why don’t you put down your tea so that delicate cup doesn’t meet an ugly fate.Don’t worry about it getting cold… I doubt you’ll care about that for very much longer.”


	23. Chapter 23

This was a disaster!  Moran… he was already prominently placed on the possibilities list for being the villain to attempt Gregory’s murder and… oh no.  Gregory.  Must protect Gregory.  There were several weapons in the room and if he could simply, and quietly, steer the conversation properly, he could likely reach one and take some control of the sit… oh dear.

The speed with which Moran pulled a gun from behind his back startled Mycroft far more than staring down the barrel of a very large and very deadly weapon.

      “You’re thinking.  That’s not good.  Don’t think, Mr. Holmes.  It’s not a healthy choice.”

Buy time… it is your greatest asset at the moment.

      “I have found, rather, that thought is a far superior choice than, say, the use of rather vulgar and ostentatious firearms.”

      “Like the ones you’ve got hidden in here somewhere?  I mean, I did find two, but I know you’ve got more.  You’d be stupid not to and I’ve heard you’re anything but a stupid man.”

Don’t smile at me villain.  It is staggeringly uncharitable.

      “I acknowledge the compliment.  Might I, however, have returned to me my personal examples of the vulgar and ostentatious so we may, shall we say, stand upon even ground?”

      “No, they’re nice additions to my collection.”

      “Ah, and what other models might you boast?  I do have some interest in firearms, modern as well as antique and…”

      “Trying to stall?  Why?”

Interrupting is rude.  You are both murderous and rude.  That does not present you as a man of good character.  Which, I suppose, is to be expected, however, the black mark on your record remains extant.

      “I believe that would be self-evident.”

Now, I shall carefully and thoughtfully set down my cup because the longer I can keep your attention, the longer I have to reach either a weapon or an emergency signal.

      “Alright.  That was stupid on my part, I admit.  Where’s Mr. Lestrange?”

Shite!  No, we shall not veer in that direction, save as a mechanism for prolonging our conversation and my chances of bringing it to an end beneficial to me and dearest Gregory.

      “I am unfamiliar with that name.”

      “You don’t lie very well, do you, Mr. Holmes?”

      “I am an exceptional liar, actually, so I would posit you have somehow misconstrued either my words or their delivery.”

      “Funny.  Wouldn’t have thought you a funny man, but that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?  Funny man running this little island and more of the world on an especially active day.”

      “I am gratified my bonhomie gladdens you.”

      “Where is Mr. Lestrange, Mr. Holmes?”

      “Oh, are you hoping for a second act of my performance?  Very well, let me clear my throat a moment before I begin.”

And take a few steps towards the small painting against the wall that hosts a lovely button under the bottom of the frame that will summon armed response to this location in under three minutes.

      “No walking, Mr. Holmes.”

Do not wag a no-no finger at me, young man.  I’ll not stand for further rudeness, with or without weapon trained on my forehead.

      “I do apologize, but It is difficult for me to remain in one position for long, as you might suspect.”

      “Oh, that’s right.  Tidy hole right through you.  Big one, too.  Must hurt.”

Not that I will ever let you notice, assassin.

      “Your concern is heartwarming.  More heartwarming would be _not_ having a perfectly good suit ruined in the process of acquiring said tidy hole.  That was exceedingly uncivilized, to say the very least.”

      “Ok, you may have a point.  If you’re the type to wear suits.  It was a good shot, though.  From what I’ve heard.”

Your smile is veritably a self-satisfied leer.  If I was in a position to send those ridiculous teeth down your throat, Moran, I would not let the opportunity go wasted.

      “I disagree, since it entirely missed its intended target.”

      “That’s why I didn’t say it was a ‘great’ shot.  Where is he, Mr. Holmes?”

      “You seem to have a fascination with Mr. Lestrange.  May I know the reason why?”

      “May I know the reason why you’re protecting him?”

No.  No you may not.

      “I believe, again, that is self-evident.”

      “Not really.  He could be in a hotel.  Some safe house in the country.  Why are you protecting him?”

      “How I conduct my business is my business.  Let us return to the reason you are seeking him, shall we?”

      “Don’t like to answer questions, do you?”

      “I return the compliment.”

You smile far too much, Moran.  It does your appearance no good, so kindly cease.

      “Touché.  I _will_ find him, of course.  The question is how much damage I do in the process.  To you.  To him.  Where is he, Mr. Holmes?”

      “I believe death is rather the upper limit of damage one can do to a person, so your threat is a hollow one.”

Something we both know is not true, but conversation must continue.  And, witness!  A lean over to take a sip of my…. tepid… tea and I stay in my new position a full one-and-one-half steps closer to my objective.

      “You do like to walk, don’t you, Mr. Holmes…”

Drat.

      “… and you _know_ there are far worse things than death.  Far, far worse.  So much worse that death comes as a blessing.”

      "Such methods are sloppy.  Your reputation is not one for sloppiness.”

      “My reputation is for success.   The method isn’t important.”

      “Untrue, and you are well aware of that fact.  Pride is not something that is easy for some men to take lightly.”

The look in your eyes… a point has been struck, hasn’t it?  Good.  You have _some_ sense of honor and honor can be leveraged.

      “Pride goeth before the fall, isn’t that what they say?  Falling isn’t part of my plan.”

      “Then, let us discuss your plan.  If you will not reveal the reasons for your interest in Mr. Lestrange, then, perhaps, you will reveal your intentions.”

      “Why would that matter to you?”

      “Curiosity.  Mr. Lestrange has no appreciable value outside his particular line of work, yet so great an effort is being expended to secure his… whatever fate is slated for him.  It seems… disproportionate.  Inefficient.  Would you not agree?”

      “The knife doesn’t question the hand that wields it.”

Stop making valid points!  But, this one might help act as fulcrum for the leverage already in my arsenal.

      “In certain cases, yes, but you must concede that the situation is a curious one.  I am not unaware of the fee gained for such a thing and… for Mr. Lestrange?  Who did nothing but arrive to provide private, albeit erotic, entertainment, with no particular knowledge of the client’s identity.  I can comprehend the desire to remove him as a witness at the moment of the assassination, but to continue to seek his demise?  It is rather puzzling; do you not agree?”

And, isn’t speechmaking a lovely way to move one’s location, for the combination of motion and oration is such a natural, seamless thing…

      “Now, now… no reason to walk about.  I’d hate to get startled and put a hole in something besides another of your suits.  Or… button-up in this case.”

      “Poor show, Mr. Moran.  Threats are unnecessary, would you agree, for someone truly skilled at their craft?”

      “I _would_ agree, if your craft is interrogation.  Mine, though, is… mostly… shooting people.  And I _am_ truly skilled at that.  If you want a demonstration, I’ll give you one, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

      “There, again, my point is made.  Why are you here?  Why is Mr. Lestrange in the crosshairs of a sniper when there is no alternate outcome to their meeting but death?  Why is that so vital?  So critical?  Does it not make you wonder?”

      “No.”

      “Now, who is the liar?”

      “Not a lie.  I don’t need to wonder; I just need to _know_.  And, I know that there’s a round in a gun with his name written on it.  What else really matters?”

      “A great deal, I would say.  You’re not a drone, Mr. Moran.  I know, for a fact, you have modified or even walked away from assignments because you learned something about them that was not to your advantage.  Warsaw, for instance.  I _am_ aware of the rather unfortunate circumstances that unfolded during that situation.  Perhaps a few prudent wonderings might have spared you that, shall we say, inconvenience?”

Being stabbed, quite literally, in the back surely qualified as an inconvenience, correct?

      “You also know, then, the, _shall we say_ , fate of the people who hired me for that job.”

Former people, Mr. Moran.  Corpses, especially dismembered ones, do not warrant classification with those of us remaining alive.

      “Regardless, that was a fate met after the fact.  I trust you would have enjoyed your fee a great deal more without the unpleasantness associated with it.”

And, since you are a touch distracted, perhaps a nearly imperceptible meander towards…

      “Something about that picture that interests you, Mr. Holmes?”

Arsehole.

      “It is one of my favorites, actually.  Would you care to take a closer look?”

      “I see well enough from here.  It’s not bad, actually.  What’s it hiding?  Gun, knife, lockdown switch, emergency signal, knockout gas…”

      “It conceals naught but a few spider webs, I suspect.  My housekeeper has a decided preference for Renaissance works and she is more than content to let this poor representative of the Baroque era languish without the slightest touch of her duster.”

      “Lying again.  That’s ok, though.  I’m getting tired of this conversation anyway.”

      “Oh, do you have a commitment for later this evening?  Do you not let me detain you, if that is the case.”

      “Funny.  Once again, you’re being funny.  Does he like that?  Is that the attraction?  Besides the obvious, I mean.”

No…

      “P… Pardon?”

      “You protect him.  _You_ protect him, not a team.  He’s _here_ , not at a secure facility.  _That’s_ what I find puzzling, Mr. Holmes.  In fact, only one explanation comes to mind.”

Holster that grin!

      “How dare you.”

      “Easily, actually.  But, I don’t care, truth be told.  Fuck who you want.  He’s not the worst pick, I suppose.  Old, likes to swing his cock for whatever camera is around, but… there are worse you could have a go with.”

      “Now see here…”

      “Doesn’t matter… where is he, Mr. Holmes?  Fun and game are over.”

That look… Mycroft had seen that look in men’s eyes before and the only thing that followed it was death.

      “Yeah, they are, you fucking pissbag.”

Mycroft whirled at the voice behind him and felt his heart drop into his shoes.  There was virtually no scenario, now, that ended with both of them alive.  Ultimately, though… that was fine.  He’d donated his life to the Crown years ago and this reason was better than any for that donation to be collected.

      “There you are, mate… looking… looking shit, actually.”

      “Fuck you, Moran.”

      “You’re too old, Lestrange.  Probably give you a heart attack.”

Gregory… Gregory _knows_ him… how… what was going on?

      “Took you long enough to find me, Seb.  Losing your touch?”

      “No, just didn’t think you’d be stuck up the arse of the British Government.  Or is it the other way around?”

      “Still don’t have a sense of humor, do you, you saggy sour syphilitic scrotum?”

Gregory, please do not joke.  Go… you can make the door if he shoots me first…

      “I won’t let him shoot you, love.”

Oh, did I say that aloud?

      “Gregory… please…”

      “He’s already alerted, Mycroft.  And, I’ll wager a good bottle of wine that he’s got another weapon ready for that free hand to use so that he could take us both in a blink.  Right Sebby?”

Moran’s grin stretched wide as he reached behind him to extract another gun, nearly a match for the first, which he examined proudly before pointing it at Greg.

      “Never could fool you, _Greggy_.”

      “Gregory… why… how do you know him?”

Mycroft did _not_ like the look Greg gave him in response.  The smile was far too knowing and… sinister… for comfort.

      “Because I’m a bad, bad man, Mycroft.  Surprised you haven’t fathomed that out yet.”

      “I… no, I do not believe that.”

      “Too bad, because it’s true.  Knew it’d catch up to me one day, but I’m fucking insulted this pitiful excuse for a marksman is the person who made you learn the truth.”

The rude gesture Greg made towards Moran was matched by one made by Moran to Greg, though a gun was used instead of a finger.

      “Eat my arse, you prick.”

      “Eat my prick, you arse.”

      “Gregory, now is not the time…”

Greg cut off Mycroft’s words, leaning over and kissing Mycroft on the cheek, patting it lightly when he was done.

      “It’s past time, love.  Knew this one would come eventually, I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”

Turning one last time towards Mycroft and flashing him a vividly wicked grin, Greg strode forward and stopped an inch from the gun muzzle poised to make him nothing but a memory.

      “You made Mycroft waste his tea?  What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Mycroft choked sharply when Greg reached out and smacked Moran on the side of the head and began to feel wobbly when Moran gave an impressively contrite little boy grin and a set of sad puppy eyes that Mycroft… recognized.

      “Sorry, Dad.  Got a little carried away.”

      “I’ll say you did.  But you did a brilliant job of it!  That’s my boy, taking after his dad on the theatrical front.  Isn’t that right… Mycroft?  Oh… Seb, put those cannons away and let’s get Mycroft to the sofa.  I think he’s had a bit of a fright.”

Two guns got were tossed onto a chair and two sets of arms gently latched onto Mycroft to start him moving towards the sofa.

      “I thought he was supposed be nothing but ice.”

      “Go easy on him, you little fucker, he’s been shot.”

      “Not by me!”

      “You can tell him that when he… comes back online.”

      “Got beer while I wait?”

      “In the kitchen.  Get me one, too.”

      “Your boyfriend?”

      “Pour him a little scotch.  No, make that a lot of scotch.  Fuck it, bring the bottle…”


	24. Chapter 24

      “The optics are the best I’ve seen, really.  Bit of color distortion at the edges, but who cares?”

      “Birders.”

      “I don’t use a scope to watch birds, dad.”

      “You should.  The way you get about, you should take up birding or nature photography or something.  Broaden your horizons, meet some new people.”

There… there were definitely two voices in the room and those two voices appeared to be emanating from two people who were happily quaffing beer… was that the chervre?

      “That it is, love!”

Must work on repairing the internal monologue volume control.

      “Thought it’d be a nice late-night nibble.  Seb, pour Mycroft a little scotch to go with his bread and cheese.  Does scotch pair well with goat cheese?  It doesn’t sound like it would, but ‘goat’ and ‘cheese’ doesn’t sound like they’d go together either, really, so…”

      “I… I do not want any cheese.”

Why on Earth were they discussing cheese!

      “Oh.  Alright.  Just scotch then, Seb.”

And why on Earth am I accepting a glass of scotch from Sebastian Moran?

      “Thank you.”

I thanked him!  This is catastrophic!

      “You’re welcome.”

He… well, I cannot deride his manners in this instance, but I shall not award any medals for courtesy because he pointed a gun at me and was most rude while doing it.  Although… that appears, now, to have been… playacting?

      “Take a hearty sip, love, and just relax a little.  Oh, suppose I should make formal introductions.  Mycroft Holmes, this is Sebastian Moran, my very handsome and talented son… don’t roll your eyes at me, you horrible brat!  I’m proud of you and I’m not going to hide it even if you roll your eyes right out of your fucking head!  Anyway, Mycroft… this is Seb, my ungrateful arse of a son and Seb, you ungrateful arse of a son, this is Mycroft Holmes who was kind enough to take me in after one of your lot tried to deprive the entertainment world of my gorgeous self.”

      “Not one of _my_ lot.  That bit at the hotel…  checked it out.  Didn’t really need a pro for that shot, just someone used to a rifle.  Rest was just rat-a-tat-tat with handguns and that’s in any idiot’s range if they’re willing to take the risk.”

      “Really?  Mycroft, you heard that?  That’s why I wanted my boy in on this.  Insider information, that’s the thing we need.  Real expert opinion.”

How nice.  Gregory desired expert advice so he summoned his ASSASSIN son for a little chat.

      “The cemetery shot, though… different story.  That would have been bollocks to set up.  That’s the one to worry about.”

      “Mycroft had you on list for that one.”

      “If he didn’t, he’d be shit at his job.”

Something Mycroft felt he might agree with, at the moment, because… what in the name of Foucault’s pendulum was going on!

      “If… if I may intrude?” 

      “What?  Oh!  Sorry, love.  Haven’t seen Seb in, oh… eight months or so and we do tend to be a bit chatty when we catch up on the news in person.  I’m certain you have scads of questions, so… go ahead.”

Well done, Gregory, for now they have all flown from my mind as I focus instead on the encouraging smile on your face and grip it life a lifeline in this chaotic maelstrom.

      “Thank you.  Now… if I might orient myself… please do indulge me if I tread upon already-established ground, however… Gregory do I understand correctly that this individual, one of the world’s most prominent assassins…”

      “ _The_ world’s most prominent assassin, love.”

Your glow of paternal pride is nearly blinding, my dear.  Apparently, that question is already answered, but I shall press on for appearances sake.

      “I stand corrected.  Sebastian Moran is… your son?”

      “Your boyfriend needs more scotch.”

      “Shut it, you.  Yes, Mycroft, that evil ball of cheekiness is the fruit of my loins… STOP gagging you ungrateful thing.  What do you think, love?  This one a challenger to Sherlock’s Throne of Infancy?”

Oh dear lord, that was a horrifying thought.

      “I shall offer no judgement, save to say I am certain the battle would be a rather bracing one to view.  And, on that particular subject… is there a reason, Mr. Moran you chose you break into my home and threaten my life, rather than, for example, knocking upon the door and saying hello?”

      “Yeah.”

      “And that reason is?”

      “Fun.”

He _was_ an infant of Sherlockian proportions.  This was… what was that?  The sound of the universe ripping itself in twain?  Verily, it must be so.

      “I’ll apologize for that, Mycroft, because I _could_ have stepped in earlier once I heard voices down here, but… wasn’t he brilliant!  Nobody, and I mean nobody, crosses my lad and is happy with the result.  Not that you crossed him, of course, he was just having a bit of a laugh, but… oh, what a thing to watch.  Positively fierce, he was!  Cold, deadly and fierce… just warms my heart.”

Apparently, Gregory’s rather divided personality was soundly grounded in genetics, for his son inherited it wholesale.

      “Well… I will not say I particularly enjoyed the experience, for I was rather profoundly concerned about _your_ welfare, so an earlier intervention would have been a welcome thing.”

Yes, dear Gregory’s ‘I’m sorry’ face was truly the progenitor of Moran’s.  His life was officially down the rabbit hole and settling nicely on the mushroom next to the caterpillar.

      “I know, Mycroft, and, looking back, it _was_ pretty stupid, but you and Seb were going to meet at some point and this way you got to take each other’s measure without having to play nice because I was in the room.  Forgive me?”

Witness my eyes, Gregory.  Read in them the fullness of my next sentence.

      “We will talk.”

      “Yes!  I love talking with you, as you well know.”

Lovely, though, at the very least, this new look in your eyes indicates my message was both received and agreed upon.  We have _much_ to talk about, Gregory, but a great deal of it is not for ears other than ours.  One issue, though, may be touched upon now. 

      “Then please do begin and confess how your son gained access to this home.”

Because every fiber of my being says _you_ had some role to play in this farcical home invasion and those fibers are rarely mistaken.

      “He had a key.”

      “WHAT!”

My fibers did not predict this!

      “I took a photo of your key to the courtyard door and texted it to him so he could make a copy.  He took care of disabling the alarm system himself, though.  There’s not an alarm my Seb can’t beat.  You should hire him, actually, to design a really brilliant one that would make even _him_ have to break a sweat to work past it.  Nobody would be able to get in then.”

      “Oh dear lord… and how on Earth were you able to text him!  I know very well that you have not sent any…”

Ah… perhaps it was not quite the time to mention he was monitoring his lover’s communications if he wished to remain solidly on the evening’s moral high ground, though your knowing smile tells me, my dear, that my high ground is now somewhat of a mole hill.

      “I knew you’d check, Mycroft.  It’d be foolish not to, even if you trust me completely, because I might accidentally contact someone I oughtn’t and you’d need to know.  That’s why I had Sherlock get me another SIM card for the phone.  Worked a treat for letting Seb know what had happened and getting him started on doing his own bit of information gathering.  Not that I don’t think you’ll unravel this tangle on your own, love, but why not have a little extra help with it?  Especially the sort of help Seb can give.  Speaking of, what else have you found out, lad?”

Mycroft took the moment while Moran was finishing his latest slab of bread and cheese and washing it down with beer to further process the surrealism of the situation.  Sebastian Moran was wanted by a rather large number of agencies in a rather large number of governments for a rather large number of deaths and… he was Gregory’s son.  Gregory’s _son_.  NONE of which was in the folder of information he had finally directed be prepared on his lover.  Also, and more troublingly, none of which was revealed to him _by_ his lover.  And, now, he had to have a rather pointed discussion with Sherlock about doing _anything_ for Gregory _ever_ in this lifetime.  Their alliance, apparently, was best described as unholy.

      “Lots of interest in having Drake out of the way.  Can’t blame them, because he had a nasty reputation for souring deals unless he got a little extra out of them that wasn’t originally bargained.  But, he had lots of hooks in lots of fish, so nobody wanted to move against him unless they could gather up those hooks for themselves.  Some talk about a couple of rivals being responsible, especially a few in eastern Europe and one China, some talk about his brother, too, who managed the accounting for Marcus’s enterprises.  Nothing firm, but I’m still waiting to hear from a few people who owe me favors.  Speaking of favors, did you put eyes on Luukas, dad, as the gun at the funeral?”

      “Yeah.”

Mycroft shot a look over to Greg, because that was the name of the sniper Lestrange had identified as a possibility for the shooting at the cemetery.

      “Gregory?  You… please, explain that and realize my scotch is not lessening the severity of the headache that is waiting behind the hills to leap out and lay siege to my brain.”

      “I didn’t obstruct your investigation, if that’s what you’re thinking, Mycroft.  When you showed me that folder, there was Sebby’s photo right at the top, so I had to send your attention away from him, for obvious reasons, but also because _he_ certainly didn’t do it, and given the difficulty of that shot, I thought that Koskinen bastard was the most likely choice.  I really did, love, that’s not a lie.  First, he’s just the type of wanker who would actually kill someone at a fucking funeral.  Second, Seb’s talked about him and he’s done a few jobs like that where the terrain was woody and didn’t have much in the way of solid lines of sight.  How’d you know we were looking at him, Seb?”

      “He was in South Africa, same as me, and I caught a few back channel inquiries about his location.  He went to ground fast, too, so I knew there were serious parties hoping to find him.  He’ll probably move towards Thailand… he’s got a house there… and will keep out of sight until his name’s not in the air anymore.”

      “What do you think, son?  He the one who put a hole in Mycroft?”

      “Hmmm… probably.  But I don’t know for certain.  I can try and find out, but it _will_ take me awhile.  I might actually have to find him and _persuade_ him to give me the truth.”

      “Mycroft?”

Now, Gregory was hoping to send SEBASTIAN MORAN, HIS SON off into the wild on a sniper hunt.  Could this possibly… no, no.  Do not offer to the universe any challenge, for tonight would be the night the universe would step up to see the challenge met and exceeded.  However… he would, grudgingly, and certainly not aloud, acknowledge that the person best suited, should the need, ultimately, arise. to locate the world’s 2nd most prominent assassin was the one actually wearing the 1st place ribbon on his chest.

      “I believe, for the moment, we may table that discussion.  We do have a number of operatives in the region who can be dispatched if Sebastian has information to help cement the location of Koskinen’s safe house.”

      “Seb?”

      “Maybe.”

      “Don’t be an arse.”

      “I’ll try.”

      “So, my darling son _does_ have information that might help you and _will_ give that to you if he knows what’s good for him, wants a bed tonight and more beer.”

      “You’re a hard man, dad.  Hard and bitter.  And old.”

Said with a wide smile that began a foot war between father and son that had Mycroft sighing loudly and pouring himself another two… three… fingers of scotch.  Apparently the legion of reports concerning Sebastian Moran that painted him as a stoic, relentless, utterly lethal individual had _not_ been gathered from sources familiar with the standard… Moran?... family interactions.  His information about Gregory had delivered the rather disappointing fact that Gregory’s proper surname was Jones, which certainly did not fit his colorful personality and… oh good lord, now they were throwing bread.

      Gregory!  Sebastian!  Stop that at once!  You are not toddlers!”

But, I, it seems, am employed as your minder.

      “Sorry, love.”

      “Sorry, dad’s snog victim.”

Foot war number two has now begun.  And they are giggling.  The porn star and the assassin… not really the titles to fit the footy, giggly narrative, but Wonderland is nothing if not a very strange place.

      “While the two of you attempt… podicide… I believe I shall… Gregory, do we have remaining any of the ham from last night’s meal?”

      “What?  Oh… yeah!  We do.  Want a sandwich love?”

Said while staging a toe-based sneak attack on his son’s Achilles tendon that actually impressed Mycroft somewhat mightily.

      “I believe something in my stomach other than scotch is becoming necessary.”

      “Seb, go help Mycroft make a sandwich and bring one for me, while you’re at it.  And another beer.”

Being well into one’s thirties, apparently, did not preclude one from rolling one’s eyes like a put-upon teenager, or Sherlock, when asked to do anything by one’s parent.

      “Fine, but I’m making two for me.  I haven’t really eaten since I got a bowl of stew in the galley of the fishing boat that brought got me from Spain to France.”

      “Poor you, having to go the scenic route since all that technology they’ve got in the airports spot you right away.  Thought you were going to buy a boat – what happened to that?”

      “You haven’t died and left me your money.”

      “You’re richer than me, you little toff!  By a wide margin, too.  Mycroft, you talk to him about buying a boat so he doesn’t have to travel on fishing trawlers or hot air balloons or whatever the fuck he finds to get him place to place for jobs so your boys don’t drag him away for a beheading.  You can start on that while you make the sandwiches.”

Moran dragged himself out of his char and after stepping clearly on his father’s foot as a coup de grace, grinned at Mycroft to show him to the kitchen, something which earned him another of Mycroft’s exasperated sighs as the older Holmes slowly rose, answered the concerned look in his Gregory's eyes with a slight 'I am alright' nod, bid a temporary farewell to his scotch and led the way out of the sitting room.  Somehow, it came as no surprise when, as they both were fully in the kitchen and out of sight of Greg, that Mycroft felt the press of a gun barrel to the back of his neck.

      “Now, Mr. Holmes. I think we need to have a little chat.”

      “As opposed to the lengthy one in which we were just engaged?”

      “That one wasn’t about my dad falling in love with you.”

Oh.  Oh my… that was… unexpected.

      “I… I see.”

      “I hope you do or this conversation is going to have a very metallic end.”

Something that would certainly compromise his ability to make use of any information from this particular conversation.  That was not permissible because… this conversation might actually be interesting…


	25. Chapter 25

Mycroft sighed and wondered if Moran began every conversation by thrusting a gun in the other party’s face.  Or, in this case, neck.

      “I sincerely doubt your statement, _Sebastian_ , as your father would certainly not approve of your actions.  At the very least, he would be required to clean the kitchen before preparing his breakfast and that would make him especially cross, given the lack of coffee in his blood.”

The gun pulled away from Mycroft’s neck and the elder Holmes chose to cement his point by continuing to walk forward, without looking back, and beginning to slice some bread.

      “If you would be so kind?  The ham is in the refrigerator.”

Keeping his eyes on his work, Mycroft listened to the sound of footsteps, then the opening of the refrigerator door and removal of items which were deposited on the counter next to him.

      “Mustard.”

      “Is that code?

      “Need some.”

      “There is mustard in the refrigerator.”

      ‘Wrong kind.”

      “There are, if memory serves, three types of mustard in the refrigerator.”

      “Three wrong kinds.  Pickle, too.”

      “Oh, is the pickle also subpar?  Dear me, what a ghastly grocer must have my custom for the household to have sunk so low on the ladder of condimentary acceptability.”

The two men worked silently for a few moments to slice bread and ham, with Mycroft pointedly not noticing how deftly Moran wielded even an uninspiring kitchen knife.

      “I won’t let you hurt him, _Mycroft_.  Dad made me promise not to… deal with… that wife of his, or any of her lovers, but I promise _you_ that I’ll risk upsetting him by ending your life in a very unpleasant way if you hurt him.  Things don’t work, fine.  You hurt him, you _will_ die.  You have my word on that.”

      “Sebastian… I understand…”

      “No, you don’t.  I didn’t meet my dad until I was seven.  He didn’t know I existed.  He was scarcely 23 and just making a real name for himself in the porn trade and there I am.  Most would have waved me along, but not him.  He was… it was a rough area and lots of boys my age had it hard with their families, but not me.  Greg did everything in his power to see me properly raised.  His schedule… it was punishing, but he made certain that every bit of time he had he gave to me.  Early film shoot, he’d leave breakfast and a note to say good morning and wish me well for whatever mischief I’d get up to.  There’d be a packed lunch for school, too.  When he had extra work after filming, he’d race home if at all possible to see me settled for dinner and talk about my day.  If not, I still ate fine because he’d cook ahead when he had an opportunity, with me helping, and fill the fridge and freezer.  Some nights he’d drag in a few hours before dawn, but that didn’t stop him looking in that I was alright and going through my assignments to see they were done and done well before he finally collapsed in bed.”

Mycroft stayed very still and quiet as the assassin hacked a bit at the ham while wrestling down a surge of emotion Mycroft would not originally have believed Moran capable of achieving.

      “A lot of people would say he was a shit father who fucked other men for a living and left me at home alone all hours of the day or night, but that’s because they’re stupid and blind.  I was never hungry or dirty or cold, he made me see the doctor and dentist regularly… made sure I went to school every day, did that fucking meet-the-teacher nonsense and signed the slips so I could visit the museums and see the plays when there was a school trip… saw I always had whatever I needed or wanted that we could possibly afford… I never felt for a single moment that my dad didn’t love me.  It was brutal for him, sometimes, to do all of that and it left him no time, most days, for himself, but he _did_ it and has not once judged me or loved me any less for the choices I’ve made in life.  You _don’t_ understand, Mycroft, and that’s fine.  You don’t need to, you only need to accept that my dad has never let me down and I will not let _him_ down if you treat him poorly.”

This time, staring into Moran’s cold, deadly eyes was something Mycroft… appreciated.  There was no doubt whatsoever this threat was genuine and… it somehow eased his own mind that his lover had not only his protection in this world, but there was another, formidable, sword to add to the side.  Moran undeniably loved his father and, regardless of any other actions in his life, that affection could not be ignored.  Nor could the depth of his Gregory’s own, immeasurably-large heart.

      “I have no intention of behaving dishonorably towards Gregory, however, it is, perhaps, a bit premature of you to…”

      “He cares for you.”

Truly?  Do tell me more… and spare not a single detail!  Here, I shall affect a protestation to draw you out further on the issue…

      “I find that difficult to believe.  We have known each other but a scant amount of time and not under the most, shall we say, romantic of circumstances.”

      “You still don’t lie well.  But, maybe you’re not trying very hard...”

Do not analyze me, child – make your report!

      “…we can play that game, though.  My dad… he loves a good laugh and a good drink, watching a match or kicking a football around.  He’s very well-liked, but doesn’t have many close friends.  He only has… had… one really.  Kevin and his wife were the only people in dad’s life who knew who I was.  Not Kevin’s sons, the people dad worked with… not even that pathetic excuse for a wife… safer that way.  For him and me both.”

      “I… I fail to understand…”

      “Let me make it clear, then… when Dad contacted me he said come and prepare to stay a bit.  Could have sent me to a hotel, but he made it clear I was staying _here_.  Tipped his hand, too, didn’t he?  Said we’d have to meet sometime and he wanted us to get a good idea about each other.  That’s not important if he was going to do the same as he did with Deborah, the _wife_.  Said I was a colleague, did a bit of porn myself, that sort of thing.  Now, maybe you’re thinking it’s because you know who I am, in terms of the work I do, but you _didn’t_ know I was his son.  He could have let that part stay hidden and say he knew me… Dad could have made up something, he’s clever that way.  He _wanted_ you to know and he’s not done that before.”

Oh.  That was more than slightly intriguing…

      “For better or for worse, my father has his hopes raised and he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care.  A lot.  The sort of caring that you hope to still be doing twenty years from now.  With the same person.  So, I say again, you hurt him, betray him, treat him shabbily… death will be a blessing you’ll beg for and I won’t be quick bestowing it.”

      “I believe I comprehend your terms.”

      “Agree with them?”

      “Yes, I see no reason for argument.  However… I accept your relationship with Gregory and that it is a close one.  I also accept that you will be a guest under this roof.  It must be said, though, that you and I stand on opposite sides of the proverbial line in the sand.  We… we must discuss, at some point, the structure of that situation and how it will integrate with your father’s and my relationship.”

      “You say that like it would be hard…”

Well… yes.  You – assassin.  Me – rather against that sort of thing.  Unless, of course…

      “… but you can’t tell me you’ve never employed one of my type before.  Because I know you have.”

Unless of course a prudent removal of a particularly troublesome party is absolutely required for a larger, far-reaching objective to be obtained.  You are extraordinarily villainous, Moran, in every and all ways.

      “I do not, however, perpetrate murder for profit.”

Unless…

      “Why do even try to lie, Mycroft?  Maybe your own pockets don’t get lined but someone sees a gain from it.  Money, power, opportunity… all of that’s profit.”

… a necessary and substantial increase in some tangible or intangible factor may be seen for either our nation’s interests or another which, through indirect means, still improve our own portfolio of resources.  Why can’t you be stupid, Sebastian?  So very many are and it is rather narcissistic of you to showcase your cleverness in such a brazen fashion.

      “Should I offer a moral or patriotic argument or will that also be brushed aside like a mote of dust?”

      “It will be brushed the fuck aside like half a dust mote.  You can probably think of the reasons, too, and I’m too hungry to keep talking to you.”

In my mind, Moran, I am making a gesture that would shock your dear father were he to see me perform it.  In fact, I shall do it twice… nay, thrice… for you deserve it and far, far more.

      “Very self-serving of you.  However, I suppose we can…”

      “It’s probably why he didn’t tell you about me sooner, though.  In case you were wondering.  Which you were.”

No, I was not.  Not in the slightest.  Beyond, perhaps, the most miniscule of… oh, hang it all, I was consumed with both curiosity and… disappointment.

      “Pardon?”

      “The line in the sand bit.  Tell anyone else ‘My son’s Sebastian Moran’ and they’d say ‘who the fuck is that.’  Tell you… different story.  That moral patriotism righteousness shit… he probably worried that it’d be hard for you.  Hard _on_ you, really.  That he said anything, ever, means a lot so… don’t hold it against him that he kept things to himself.  Got a tray?”

Mycroft let his brain run through the last few sentences and slotted them into his existing mental framework before nodding and reaching… then pointing, because reaching was a bit out bounds at the moment… for a tray to carry back their meal.  It _was_ hard, in a way… more than once he had seen operations compromised by the individual standing in his kitchen licking previously-denigrated mustard off of a spoon and there, also, was the issue, simply, of murder for hire.

But, it would be hypocritical to claim that the ‘moral patriotism righteousness shit’ was the shining light that illuminated his path.  _His_ path was a highly shadowed and convoluted one that employed countless techniques and strategies that cleanly sidestepped the terms moral, patriotic or righteous because those terms would not see the ends met.  And those ends were… necessary.  Critical to this small ball of rock and water that moved through the blackness, mattering to no one but themselves.  It would be satisfying to castigate the person currently stacking plates and bottles onto their tray, however… what was the phrase?  The pot calling the kettle black?  Ridiculous aphorism… regardless of its applicability in this situation…

      “Ready or do you need to stand there and think some more?”

      “Your adolescence is most irritating.”

      “Inherited it, so you’ve got a rough life ahead of you, apparently.  Come on and bring the crisps.”

      “We do not have crisps.”

      “Dad’s here, so yes you do.”

Moran set down the sandwich tray and opened four or five cabinets, before divulging the offending package and happily received Mycroft’s defeated sigh as his reward.

      “Here’s a hint.  If it’s greasy and salty, Dad loves it…  take him out for a few pints, when you’re able, and order an enormous plate of chips, while you’re at it.  He’d like that a lot.”

Tossing the crisps bag next to Mycroft, the sniper again took up the tray and walked out of the kitchen while Mycroft tried to set Moran’s hair on fire with the power of his mind.  Failing that, he picked up the crisps bag with two fingers to avoid undue contamination by their nutritional blasphemy and made his own way back to the sitting room.  The evening was already sufficiently spoiled by tall the toddler without adding to the misery…

__________

      “More crisps, love?”

Some misery, however, was more flavorful than other examples…

      ‘Yes, thank you.”

One empty plate dropped back onto the tray and the crisp bag was stolen away from Mycroft for a final handful to be flung into Moran’s mouth and quickly dispatched down his throat.

      “Done.”

      “You can talk with more syllables than that, son.  I’ve heard you.”

      “Done and fuck you.”

      “That’s better, but we’ll work on… Mycroft, what’s it called when words have lots of syllables?”

      “Polysyllabic?”

      “That’s it!  We’ll work on you being more polysyllabic another day.  Now, you look two breaths from passing out and neither Mycroft nor I have any interest in dragging your body upstairs to bed.  Why don’t you have a shower and get some sleep, Seb.  Up the stairs, third door on your left is a bedroom you can use and there’s shower supplies waiting.”

Nodding slightly, Moran rose and walked over to retrieve a small pack hidden behind a bookcase and started up the stairs, stopping only to smile at his father and make a finger-gun motion at Mycroft before continuing on out of sight.

      “That’s my son… a complete arse.  But, he comes by it naturally, so I’m happy as I can be about it.  Tell me, love, you two have a nice chat while you were nearly a year making a few sandwiches?”

Your scheming is impressive, Gregory and I am somewhat an expert on the topic so wear your lauds with pride.

      “Something you hoped to set in motion?”

      “Seb likes things spelled out right from the start and I knew he’d want a word with you, away from me, now that you know who he is.  If it didn’t happen now, he’d probably ambush you in the shower or something and I suspected you wouldn’t be happy with that particular tactic.”

      “You assumed correctly.”

      “Thought so.  Anyway…”

Mycroft watched his lover reposition slightly in his chair and take a deep breath, using that preamble as the signal for the next round of conversations to begin.

      “… was there something in all of that, your chat, I mean, that you want to talk about with me?”

Why yes.  All of it, in fact.

      “If you are not too fatigued.”

Mycroft Holmes is nothing if not polite and chivalrous.

      “I should be asking that of you, love.”

And Mycroft Holmes’s lover responds in kind.  The scales remained balanced.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I am most tired, however, I find your Sebastian’s philosophy of forthrightness to be a sound one.”

      “Alright, but tell me if that changes.  Ask what you’d like.  I won’t lie.”

No, somehow I suspect you will not.

      “Let us begin, then, with the fact that you did not know of your son until he was seven years old.”

      “Oh…”

Why do you look perplexed, Gregory?  Apparently your scheming sent the affected parties down an unpredicted path.  Do not berate yourself, my dear, such things happen to most master schemers at some point in time. 

      “O…k… I though Seb would just want to know about me and you and toss some threats in for good measure.  Didn’t think he’d say much about himself.”

      “Is it not something about which you wish to speak?”

      “No!  I mean, no I don’t wish _not_ to speak about it.  That’s a simple thing, really.  I scarcely knew his mum, in point of fact.  Met her at a party and we had a bit of fun together for a couple of weeks and that was it.  Just a few real evenings out and a LOT of sex, but it was the sort of thing you do when you’re young and don’t want much more than to explore all this sex business and find out what it is that puts sparkle in your smile.”

      “Ah, so I assume, at some point, she needed something and took it upon herself to finally inform you about your son?”

      “You’d assume wrong!  You’ll like this story… shows how clever and independent my Seb is.  Apparently, he was digging about their flat and found his birth certificate.  His mum had told him she didn’t know who his father was, but there was my name right on the line and the little bastard decided to come and find me.  Started asking around and found out I was doing porn, though who would tell a seven year-old _that_ is something I’ll never fathom, but he tracked me down at this studio I was doing a few films for.  Seven years old, can you believe it!  Anyway, he didn’t know what I looked like, so… this is brilliant, positively brilliant, he started stealing wallets!  Little arse could have simply asked, but no… he sees a bloke leaving the studio and he nips by and pickpockets them.  Next day, the poor victim, or someone else on set, would find their wallet, minus their money, right inside the studio door like they’d dropped it by accident. Of course, after that happened a few times, people caught on, but the police never caught the thief!  Even at seven Seb had a talent for evading the coppers and… oh, it’s a grand thing when you see that young how brilliant a person they’re going to be.”

Remaining politely quiet and not interjecting any opinions about the brilliance of pickpocketing.  Especially since Sherlock showed similar talent and at a similar age, to Mummy and Father’s abject horror.

      “Well, one day… it was me.  Didn’t feel too bad about it since I knew I’d get my wallet back, and we’d all taken to only carrying a few quid on us so, maybe, the thief would go off and find richer prey.  There it was, my wallet returned to me and when I left for the day, everything was fine.  Next day, everything was fine, too, but… you know when you get that feeling scratching at the back of your brain that says something there to be noticed, but, for the life of you, you don’t know what it is?  I had that feeling.  Next day, same feeling, but a little stronger, so I started taking notice of my walk to the tube station, the ride, the walk home… did that a couple of more days and finally hit on that there was this skinny blond kid on the tube with me every day, really too young to be riding alone.  And if I paid attention, I could catch glimpses of the little bastard in a shop window or something while I was walking.”

      “He was nervous about initiating conversation.”

      “Partly.  Also, it was for the same reason he had a go with you before I stepped in and ruined his drama.  He was taking me in.  Making observations and drawing his conclusions.  Didn’t I say he was smart?  Watched the shops I visited to see what what I bought, who I talked to and _how_ I talked to them. Studied my body language, too.  Little Seb was making very certain he had a good picture of his dad so… well, so, I suppose, he could decide whether he wanted to talk to me or not.”

No, there will be no crediting Moran’s rather prudent methodology for he is still an unabashed evildoer and criticized my mustard.

      “Eventually, though, he did.”

      “Well, I forced the issue along.  One day, I decided enough was enough and… there was this park not far from my flat, so I stopped for a little take-away on my way home and went there to have a seat on a bench.  Took out my cartons of Chinese and set another carton down next to me with a can of that fizzy soda the kids like and put a plastic fork right on top.  Whistled for the little stalker like a dog and pointed towards the food.  Didn’t take five minutes for him to step out from behind a bush and sit down to start eating.  Knew the game was up and didn’t mind eating a full carton of his food, half of one of mine and two egg rolls!  Wouldn’t say anything, though.  Not a word.  Did that for three more days and he still wouldn’t say anything.”

Mycroft watched Greg smile fondly at the memory and realized how true Moran’s words had been.  Most would have never noticed the small boy and, if they had, would have notified the authorities or simply grabbed the child and demanded answers.  Gregory sensed a child in need and gave him the time and attention necessary to express that need.  Yes, Sebastian had been very lucky indeed…

      “Well, take-away every night for nearly a week wasn’t kind to my bank account, so I finally decided to roll the dice a final time and didn’t stop for food, but passed all that by and walked straight up the steps to my flat, leaving the door open behind me for the kid to follow or not as he chose.  Sure enough, up he comes and into the building, straight upstairs to my flat and right into the kitchen where I was already pulling out a pan to start cooking.  Dropped into a chair at the table and when I asked if chicken was alright, he said only if I made curry!  First time I hear his voice and he’s being a little bastard.  So I tell him to stick it up his arse, not in those particular words… but close…  and, for being ungrateful, he could start setting the table and washing vegetables.  You think he rolls his eyes now, you should have seen him then.  Whole head went around in a big circle… but, up he popped and started rummaging through my drawers and cabinets for plates and whatnot to put on the table and got right on helping me get dinner cooked.  I… I decided not to ask him right away who he was or why the fuck he wasn’t at home, let alone not at home and stalking _me_ , but it wasn’t three bites into dinner that he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out this folded piece of paper that he tosses over to me like it’s a fiver for the food.”

      “His birth certificate.”

      “Exactly.  Thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head!  I had a son.  The little hoover sucking down food like it was about to become illegal was my son!  And all he asks is if I knew.  I didn’t, and when I told him that I could tell he believed me.  I think he’d worked that out for himself, but it was good to hear it straight from me, gave him that final bit of reassurance that his dad hadn’t run out on him or something.”

Moving to sit next to Greg on the sofa, Mycroft reached out and wiped the small tear from his lover’s cheek, then clasped his hand and raised it for a kiss.

      “And you were overjoyed to know him.”

      “I was!  I… I’d never given thought, really, to having kids.  I was… I’d just turned 23 and was spending my days filming, dancing and doing photo shoots… kids?  Never a single thought, but at that moment, I was so happy I thought I was going to explode!”

      “And he came to live with you, correct?”

      “Yeah and quickly, too.  You have to ask yourself why a boy that young seems to have no issue being out and about in the evenings all alone.”

      “His mother.  Was she… cruel to Sebastian?”

      “No, not really.  He didn’t want to talk much about her, but after a few nights of dinner and telly, I got more of his story.  It was clear, from what he said, he had free run to do as he wanted, including, and this was the end of it for me, ignoring school whenever he pleased.  So… I decided she and I needed to have a talk.”

      “And it went in your favor.”

      “I didn’t think it would.  Thought I’d have to get legal help and I knew what a nightmare that would be, all things considered, but… Seb’s mum isn’t a bad person.  She… she’s a free spirit, I suppose, is the truth of it.  She’d go out and stay out if it suited, kept food in the house, but… a boy needs more than sandwiches and eggs.  I… I didn’t have a lot of time to give him and left him alone far more… it breaks my heart how much I had to leave him alone, but I’d phone and check, see he was sorted before I’d go… I think she just sort of _forgot_ he was there a lot of the time.  Seven years old and… it was fucking lucky Seb’s smart and observant!  Had his wits about him even then and kept him out of reach of the arseholes that could have made life… I don’t even like thinking about it.  Turns my stomach to think about what could have happened to him, even if it didn’t.”

Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand even tighter and wished desperately that he wasn’t starting to feel… something… for the man currently enjoying a relaxing shower and preparing for bed.  It was pitifully easy to see, now, why Moran loved his father so dearly and would go to the ends of the Earth to protect him.

      “Anyway… given all of that, she didn’t really object to Seb packing his things and coming to live with me.  I said she could visit whenever she’d like, but she never did.  He’d go and see her, though.  Checking she was ok, I think.  He still does!  She lives in Spain now, fancies herself an artist, and Seb stops in once or twice a year, sends her cards at holidays.  Sounds odd, doesn’t it, world’s top sniper sending his mother a birthday card, but he does.  She appreciates it, too.  Loves to see him, just… he’s not high on her priority list.  Nothing really is, I suspect, just what’s important that day or that week.  Free spirit, like I said.”

Which brought up another question and now might be good time to turn his Gregory’s mind towards less emotional topics.

      “I would ask, then, my dear… Sebastian said that you do not reveal his identity to anyone as a safety precaution.  However, given a birth certificate and two living parents, it seems that anyone with even rudimentary computer skills could make the connection and use you or his mother as leverage.”

      “That’s my Mycroft, always seeing the important things.  You’re right, too.  The only people who knew that Seb was my son and what he did for a living was Kevin and his wife.  I signed on with him a few months after Seb came to live with me and… there were times I had to beg a little child minding which they were thrilled to provide.  Loved that little tyke to pieces.  They didn’t have their own boys yet, so Seb was happy to soak in all the spoiling they were willing to give him.  It was good, too, because Sebastian didn’t warm to many people.  Always kept himself a little apart, but that was the way he wanted it, so I didn’t press.  Loved Kevin and Nora, though.  They treated him like I did and that was what worked.  I’ve got to talk to him at some point, because… I know he’s hurting because of Kevin’s death.  For Nora, there was warning and he even got here in time for the funeral, but I know this hurts and… well, I just need to talk to him, that’s all.”

      “I know you will provide all the comfort he needs at this terrible time, Gregory.  And…”

Will it?  One more chance?  No, no lightning bolts shooting from the heavens to intervene, so onward into agony…

      “… I shall provide whatever assistance I am able, though I am certain it will be laughably small and feeble.”

      “Ha!  You’d be surprised, Mycroft.  He likes you, I can tell.  He wouldn’t have been nearly as relaxed and open tonight if he didn’t.  It’ll mean something to him, even if you just say you’re sorry for his loss.”

      “Then, I shall do it.”

      “Thanks.  And, since that’s not what I started talking about… it’s like this.  You know my name’s not Lestrange.  I made that fairly clear, looking back, the first night we met.  Did you… did you dig a little to find out what it really was?”

You are smiling, my dear, so I hope this bodes well for my response.

      “I did.”

      “And it was?”

      “Jones.”

      “Incorrect!”

      “No, most correct.  You are Gregory Jones, though you have used Gerard Lestrange as your professional name for an exceedingly long time.”

      “Then why’s Seb named Moran?”

      “I assume it was his mother’s name.”

      “Incorrect!”

      “Gregory!”

      “It’s _my_ name.  Meet… hold onto your hat… Gilbert Phineas Gresham Moran!”

No.  No, that is… terrible!

      “I…”

      “Just spit if the taste in your mouth is too foul.”

      “It’s…”

      “It’s the only thing I’ve ever held against my mum.  Gilbert… and, yes, it’s from Gilbert and Sullivan.  She played their stuff non-stop!  I’d almost rather have Sullivan, or William or Arthur, but no… Gilbert.  And the rest… I think she hoped to set me up with something that sounded consequential.  Give me the name and the manor, with servants, would follow.  All it got me was a few bloody noses when I was a lad until I got tired of fighting and decided ‘Greg’ was easier on everyone.”

      “I… I am so, so sorry.”

      “Me too.”

      “That is not, however, what is on your birth certificate.”

      “Yes, it is.”

      “No, it is not.”

      “You found the birth certificate for the person who goes by Gerard Lestrange when he’s, as my son so politely said, swinging his cock about for any camera in the area.  That’s not mine, though.”

Mycroft glared at his lover, who was smiling a most cheeky smile, and knew he was, once again, perched on his mushroom motioning for the hookah to be passed his way.

      “Please explain.”

      “It’s like this… Seb joined the military when he was eighteen.  He left school at sixteen and… well, he didn’t fit very well in most jobs and didn’t seem to have an interest in doing a course or two to learn a trade.  Liked to be active, though, and he was such a clever lad… thought maybe he could do a bit with the Army and get exposed to a lot of different experiences.  Maybe decide to stay on there and become an officer someday.  He’d done well in school, once I saw he attended regularly and had all the necessary requirements.  He decided to give it a try and loved it!  Thought it was the best fucking thing in the world, and… I was so proud… he got plucked for special training after a year.  You can imagine what they trained him for…”

      “To be a sniper.”

      “That and other sneaky things.  Eventually got into one of those elite squads that does all sorts of exciting jobs you’re not allowed to talk about.  And he adored every minute of it.  He’d really found his place in the world, you know?  Then it all went to shit and that’s where my birth certificate comes in.”

Yes, I was rather wondering…

      “They wanted Seb to do this particular assignment.  Take out a whosit for a whatsit reason and that was fine.  What _wasn’t_ fine was when they changed their mind and decided the bloke’s useful, but needed something to tip him over to the ‘right’ side.  So, the story would be his wife is tragically killed and evidence would be planted to make it seem like his own people did the deed.  They tell Seb to take out the wife and he says fuck off.  They say do it or else and he says fuck off again.  She didn’t do anything wrong and if that was the only plan they had, they were too stupid for this sort of work and should find the nearest bottle of poison and have a little sip.  So… they tell him he’s out for good and send someone else to do the job.  Seb promptly eliminates that no-honor piece of rubbish and does the same for the next two dumb bastards the shadowy, quasi-military types send out.  Then, he reduces the ranks a little more by killing the ones they send after _him_ , before they can do their job.”

Yes, that particular situation had somewhat of a reputation in the intelligence arenas.  A combination of poor judgement and inestimable miscalculation birthed a cautionary tale that still resonated through the intelligence communities, although… the details, as reported, did not quite match Gregory’s story.  Not surprising, however, given the thorough embarrassment that would have been experienced had the degree of failure and casualties been accurately recorded.

      “At that point, Seb was on his own.  His own man, really, and realized he had skills that could earn him a tidy living.  Unfortunately, that type of work means you can’t have strings hanging off of you and he had a few of note.  Luckily, at the time, computer records weren’t so hard to break into and change if you knew people with the right talent and, between the two of us, we did.  So, Sebastian Moran, my dear son has two parents who died, one when he was young and one not long after he joined the Army.  My real life ends there.  Both me and his mum got a new history made for us, though she doesn’t know about hers.  Seb’s never told her what he does and he bought her the house in Spain under a fake name.  Paying cash usually erases a lot of questions and closer looks at paperwork, so no problems there.  She goes by a new name six months to a year anyway because she gets tired of how the old one sounds, so following her history is a mess.  It’d be harder to get away with now, but… at the time, some computer work, a couple of good forgers to prepare hard copies of the necessary papers and a good housebreaker to replace the original documents with the altered versions and voila!  Even you were fooled.”

And he was, as that… most impressive.  And most infuriating, though one accepted a well-played hand with grace.

      “I suspect I would have uncovered the truth at some point.”

Or a semblance of grace.  Civility… civility was sufficient.

      “Look at you all frustrated that me and Sebby had one over on you and your lot.  It’s alright, love, I still think you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met.  And the sexiest, too.”

Now you glory in your victory.  You and your son are supremely well-matched.

      “I do not require placation.”

      “Maybe not tonight, but I’ll placate you good and proper tomorrow.  Even use a lovely gag, if you like, so no worries about Seb hearing anything he shouldn’t.”

      “Do you have one?”

      “Oh yes.  A couple of different types so we can experiment with what you like best.  Thought you might like the opportunity to still that beautiful voice of yours for awhile, so there aren’t any worries about having to say a single word while I make you happy.”

That _did_ sound rather pleasant.

      “It is the paltriest of offerings, but I shall consider accepting.”

      “Thank you.  As always you are both gracious and generous.”

      “I do try.”

      “I know you do.  So… that’s that, at least.  Seb’s story, and mine, too, I suppose.  Kevin and Nora knew the truth of it, but they never really talked about him to others, especially after Seb went independent, so they were safe.  You’ve got my real name, as a bonus, which my wife didn’t even have.  Should have taken that as a warning… if you don’t feel comfortable telling someone your name, they’re probably not the right person to marry.  What… what else do you want to know, love?  What else did you and my boy talk about?”

Several things, of tremendous importance, however… in your eyes, I see you both know what they might be and are hopeful this is not the time for those discussions.  I find myself agreeing with that position, though we both know they _will_ come, but… it is good they rest for now.  Enough ground has been covered for this single night.

      “Many things, the price of milk, reduction of carbon emissions…”

      “Seb is very concerned about both of those, actually.  Values his strong bones and teeth, as well as stopping that fucking global warming right in its tracks.”

      “The very thrust of our discourse!”

      “Well, you can regale me with all the details later.  Time for bed?  I’ll clean this up tomorrow, but I’d like you to get some sleep after all of this.  Do you think you can?”

      “I believe so, though, I have no doubt the morning duties will come as always, ringing early on my mobile.”

      “I’ll see you have some naps during the day, then.  Thank you for this, Mycroft.  Seb, I mean.  You could have… well, you could have done a lot of things that you didn’t and I thank you for all of them.”

      “He is your son, Gregory and, though he and I have our own matters to discuss in more depth, his station in your life deserves both my respect and support.  Do not worry he will be dragged away in shackles, though, if he depletes the milk and leaves none for my morning tea, I will reconsider.”

      “That’s fair.  Here, let me help you up. I’m sorry about that, too… you must be hurting what with all of this and missing your bedtime medication.”

      “Actually, the pain is most manageable.  I suspect the adrenaline might be given some credit for that.”

      “And my sexiness.”

      “That goes without saying.”

Greg helped Mycroft off the sofa and carefully walked him upstairs to their bedroom.  Tonight went… well, about as he expected with his son’s anticipated antics, but… his Mycroft was a jewel.  Truly, there was nobody in the world as courageous, understanding and caring as he was and if there was anyone in this world who might be willing to accept an aging porn star and his gun-for-hire son as part of their lives, it was the man in his arms.  Maybe, just maybe, Gilbert Moran may have found the best piece of luck ever in history.  He deserved it, too.  You just know Mycroft would call him Gilbert whenever he wanted to be an arse and there had to be _some_ reward for that rather lethal bit of misery…


	26. Chapter 26

      “Gregory… shackles are returned to the negotiations…”

      “Seb!  You drank the last of the milk!  What did I tell you about that?”

      “Finders drinkers, losers weepers.”

      “I never said… ok, I did say that, but you were something like ten at the time and your memory’s not that good, so I think you just made it up to be a bastard.  I’m so sorry, love.  Must have left the courtyard door open and a savage made his way in to steal the milk.  And the… Sebastian Moran, where the fuck is the bacon!”

      “Right now?  Probably my lower esophagus.”

      “A wild dog!  I fathered a wild dog who eats me out of house and home.”

      “I left some kale, if that helps.”

      “I’ll help you, miserable creature that you are.  Have a seat, love, and I’ll see what I can do with this mongrel’s leavings.  Still want tea or will coffee do?”

      “If it’s needed, there’s some of that powdered death in the lower cupboard he can use instead of milk if he wants your pitchblende coffee.”

      “Is there?  Oh… Mycroft… ok, death glare duly noted and… Sebastian Moran, you will _not_ suggest that Mycroft Holmes defile himself with that powdered cream rubbish.”

      “There’s instant coffee back there, too, Dad.  Your boyfriend’s sad and mental.  I felt disgraced just looking at it.”

      WHAT!  Mycroft… are you alright?  Got anything you need to tell me?  Or a therapist?”

      “If I might interrupt the juvenility for a moment… both are present for a certain American politician who has had cause to burden my hospitality on occasion and… the man is a barbarian.  If I use my most potent powers of persuasion, he might be coerced to enjoy a freshly brewed cup of quality coffee, but, for no reason whatsoever, will he loosen his hold on the powdered... it is naught but products of the chemical industry, so I shall not insult the dairy farmers by appending the term ‘cream’ anywhere in the vicinity of the lactic outrage.”

      “Chubby fellow?  Always wears too-short a tie?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the milk-thief who smiled merrily at the scrutiny.

      “Perhaps.”

      “Arsehole.  Him, I mean.  Not completely sure about you, yet.  He does have a death grip on that shit, too.  Always thought it’d be the perfect vehicle for something nice and toxic.  Lots of candidates that would be ideal to slip in and bring his day to an unfortunate end.  I have a list of them, actually.  Just in case.”

      “Sebastian… kindly do not murder that particular individual at the present time.  He is a ghastly person, however, does possess some measure of use and I shall not see that use wasted.”

      “I wasn’t planning to.  Not today, at least.  Tomorrow’s possible, though, if the price is right.”

      “Absolutely not.  There are several initiatives in play that would be critically impaired if he were removed from the process.”

      “Bollocks, I can think of ten people off the top of my head who could replace him.”

      “Ten people who have not been cultivated for my purposes and time is somewhat of the essence for these particular objectives.”

      “Fine!  I get a call to ruin his day and I’ll let you know.  So you can beat the price.”

      “Intolerable!  I am not going to engage in… bargaining… to see my plans successfully set in motion!”

      “Not bargaining – auctioning.  I’ll auction myself and highest bidder wins.  This is actually a good idea…”

      “No… under no circumstances.  You shall find my temper far more strained by that line of thinking than for the loss of my milk, I assure you.”

Greg hoped his smile wasn’t visible as he worked on preparing breakfast for himself and his lover because it could send either Mycroft or Sebastian awkwardly stepping away from their conversation and that would be criminal.  This was the best!  He’d known, it, too… maybe not at first, but once he realized Mycroft wasn’t a typical government man… he’d known this might actually be someone who could connect with his Seb.  Someone who knew the world was filled countless shades of gray, as opposed to the fucking black and white some people tried to sell to the stupid and naïve.  Mycroft knew what the world was like, not what it was supposed to be like and… that was the sort of person who could look at his son and see him for the man he really was.  Sit at the breakfast table and spar a bit like any family might.

Not that he was thinking in ‘family’ terms yet, of course.  That would be silly.  Really and truly silly to think about what an amazing family they would be… him and Mycroft with their scrappy, highly unique chicks.  And seeing Seb having a grand time with someone, rather than sitting there grunting out answers in as few words as possible… it was something he worried he’d never see again once Nora, then Kevin died…

      “Dad, how much of a bump do you think I should insist on for each bid when I’m on auction?  I’m thinking a percentage, but I’m not sure if 5% is too low.  Hate to sell myself off cheaply.  People don’t respect you if you price yourself too low in any market, plumber or… something other than plumber.”

      “Hmmm… 7% maybe?  Ten percent seems a bit high.  Try 7% for now and see how that goes.”

      “Gregory, I cannot believe you are colluding with your son in some form of… extortion racket.”

      “Gotta see him settled with something for his old age, don’t I?  And I’m only thinking of, say… 3% off the top as my commission.  With Seb’s fees, that’s my retirement package settled, too.  I’ll see you’ve got fresh milk and bacon every day, love, so don’t you worry I’ll let your contribution go unrewarded.”

      “Three percent!  Fuck that, Dad… you’ll have 0.5% if you’re lucky.”

      “Listen to that, Mycroft.  Wade in for me, will you, and see me properly compensated while I fry the sausages.”

      “Sausages!  Where’d you find sausages?”

      “Behind the kale you were afraid to touch, evil son that you are.  Told you avoiding good greeny vitamins would catch up with you one day.  Well, today’s the day.”

While Sebastian rolled his eyes, Mycroft used the distraction to steal a piece of toast from his nemesis’s plate as war reparations and paused a moment to savor the incredibly odd sensation of… community.  With his Gregory he had been relishing the sharing of meals with someone who made the time pleasurable and, if he forced himself to honesty, Gregory’s son was a passably enjoyable companion at table.  Still an irredeemable blackguard, of course, but he was not unknowing of the scope and shape of his true work and that was… refreshing.

      “Heavens, those do smell most delicious, my dear.  Might we afford those, as well, with the 3.5% commission on your offspring’s negotiated fees?

      “WHAT!  Three and a half percent?  You’re loony, Mycroft.  Properly, sectionably loony.”

      “I think not, child.  You are using your father and my relationship as a fulcrum to help lever sacks of gold into your purse, knowing that my price point will rise accordingly, since my dear Gregory shall benefit from the transaction.  As you see an enriched auction figure, so should he see a larger percentage of the gross.”

      “Gross… now, wait a minute. Do you have any idea how much I have to pay in expenses?  Transportation, lodging, ammunition, special weaponry, bribes… I operate on a margin slimmer than a supermodel’s arse!  Scarcely have a few pence to purchase a loaf of bread and a lump of moldy cheese when all is said and done.”

      “Ah, that explains the ravenousness with which you attack our larder.  Gregory, perhaps he _should_ see a sausage added to his repast.  I would hate to find the chairs and table gnawed to dust because your son, in his hunger, de-evolved to some form of beaver-like creature and believed the wooden furnishings would provide a substantial meal.”

      “I’m not a beaver!  I did _not_ inherit Dad’s teeth, thank you very much.”

      “No, you bastard, you inherited mine _and_ your mother’s.  How many are there in your head, anyway?  Finished counting yet?  You’ve been at that since you were eight and I thought you’d hit the end by now.  Maybe they need to create some new numbers just for your dental issues.”

      “Three!  Three sausages, you negligent father, and three percent, you greedy… father’s boyfriend.  That’s the magic number in this house from this moment forward.”

      “Most excellent.  I see that Gregory has prepared quite the bounty of sausages and was certainly going to make available to you whatever you might desire and a fixed 3% of your extorted wages is far in excess of the 0.5% you set as your initial offer.  In fact, it is your father’s original askance, so he is fully satisfied by the deal.  Really, this morning is off to a bracing start.  My dear?  I believe I shall celebrate with a cup of your finest coffee, though with a bit more sugar to offset the tragedy of the milk debacle.”

Greg looked back to share a grin with Mycroft at Sebastian’s roar of agony and seared the image into his memory.  I could never be every day, but… it was possible that this could be _some_ days in their lives and that was worth a bit of branded brain so the memory lingered in between those times.

      “You’re both dreadful old men and I’m glad I won’t be here today to suffer more of your dreadfulness.”

This shared look was not quite a grin and Greg left Mycroft to take up the discussion since he was perfectly capable of extracting information from the younger Moran and it wouldn’t do to burn the breakfast, now it was part of vital familial negotiations.

      “Might I ask where you intend to go, Sebastian?”

      “No.”

      “I shall counter with yes and I remind you of the aroma of sausages as well as… Gregory are you frying bread?”

      “Bread, and I’ve got some beans going, which I know you won’t want, but I do, but there’s a nice tomato for you AND I might have started a little dried fruit to simmer while we eat so we’ll have something sweet and extra fibery to end our meal.  I’m prepared to set aside some for you, son, because I suspect you’re a bit packed up this morning, which explains your contrariness.”

      “There… your father presents a wealth of incentive to provide the information I request.  Of course, if your scant few pieces of bacon and rather unfortunate toast was sufficient…”

      “Is there ginger in the fruit?”

      “You know there is, son.”

      “Shit.  Dad knows I love his gingered fruit.  Alright… first, I’m buying clothes since I dropped everything and ran when I got Dad’s messages.  Then, there’s a few people I want to talk to who might have information about what happened to Drake.  Make a trip to Dad’s flat, too, in case anything was left there as a nasty surprise.”

      “I recommend against the final item as Gregory’s flat is likely under some form of observation.”

      “Probably true, but that’s not stopped me before.  Knowing that street, a lorry and a man with a large box and moving trolley won’t be out of place and gives a body reason to be inside the building at least as long as it takes for a good look about the flat.  Anything you want while I’m there, Dad?”

      “You know what I want, Seb.”

      “Anything but that, I mean.”

      “Bring it, you bastard.”

      “No.”

      “Bring it or don’t bring yourself back.”

      “I’ll sleep rough.  It’s worth it.”

      “Might I know the item that is the cause of such contention?”

Mycroft watched the simultaneous action of Greg whirling around on his heels to face the table and grin widely while Sebastian waved his hands about in a very definitive ‘no never not a chance’ motion.

      “Show him.”

      “No.”

      “Show Mycroft the gorgeousness.”

      “I’ll chew glass first.”

      “I can make that happen.”

      “Go stir your prunes.”

      “Show him.”

      “Prunes!”

      “Let Mycroft behold the glory.”

      “You’ll blind him, you daft bastard!”

      “Let him bathe in the majesty.”

The volume and length of Sebastian’s frustrated sigh won him a small measure of approving applause from his audience and spurred him to reach into his pocket, access the photos and flip through a few until he took a deep breath and presented the result for Mycroft to view.

      “It was nice knowing you, Dad’s boyfriend.”

      “Dear lord…”

Must remember in the future never to discount Sebastian’s opinion in matters concerning his father.  There were horrors, there were terrors and there was… this.

      “What’d I tell you, Mycroft – gorgeous majesty.”

      “Dad means hideous eye-boiler.”

      “I… I believe I my heart is stalling.”

      “You’ve killed your boyfriend!  Are you happy now?”

      “Bang on his chest a few times and he’ll be right as rain.  It’s alright, Mycroft… I had heart palpitations when I first saw that beauty, so there’s no shame in your bit of death.”

      “You look like a lava lamp, Dad.  A lava lamp given to a very disappointed child on Christmas morning by parents who really don’t like him very much.”

      “A _fabulous_ lava lamp, thank you very much.”

Mycroft stared at the photo of Greg, wearing an exceedingly fluffy and exceedingly purple bathrobe, haphazardly decorated with a combination of green blobs and orange blotches that was most… it was an affront to taste such as the world had never seen.  Eye-boiling was a kind and gentle descriptor for the horror!

      “Well, love… you can be honest.  That one is nearly as hysterical as Sherlock about simple, little things.”

      “It…”

      “He’s struck dumb, too.  Nice, Dad… deprive the man of sight and speech before he’s even had a mouthful of breakfast.  I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

      “Being exposed to that much splendor at once can be overwhelming, Sebastian.  Give him a moment to thoroughly absorb the magnificence.”

      “Tell him, Mycroft.  Tell the poor, deluded bastard that he’s an insult to nature and the universe will strike him down for aesthetic heresy if he doesn’t burn that god-forsaken atrocity of cloth.”

      “Your envy has made you peevish son.  Go pour the coffee and try not to get any of your peevishness mixed in with Mycroft’s extra sugar.”

Sebastian rose from the table, setting his phone down directly in front of Mycroft who was, frankly, terrified to even reach out to push away the offending image.

      “It… where…”

In the name of all that is holy…

      “… did you acquire such a… unique… garment, my dear?”

      “On a film shoot!  It’s not worth getting dressed while we’re filming, so if there’s a bit of time you’re not needed, you toss something over your skin and go about your business.  Warm days, a dressing gown is enough, but some sets are cold as fuck and a nice bathrobe is the perfect choice.  Wardrobe had this beauty on hand and I slipped the woman ten quid to take it home with me.  You can’t walk past an opportunity like that, you really can’t.  And it’s thick as my coffee, too.  The perfect thing for a cozy evening on the sofa with a book.”

His sofa would never recover from the shock.  Must implement preemptory measures…

      “Unfortunately, Gregory, I believe Sebastian exiting your building with this… kaleidoscopic… garment in hand would attract a great deal of unwanted attention.”

You may keep your ridiculous ‘thumbs up’ gesture to yourself, assassin.  I am acting only to save myself.

      “Bollocks.  He carries in a box he pretends is heavy and leaves with one he pretends is empty.  Easy!  I want my robe, Sebastian.  Your life won’t be worth living if you don’t bring it back with you.”

Mycroft was somewhat surprised that Moran cut eyes towards him as if to plead for rescue, so he could be forgiven leaping further into the fray.

      “Gregory, if you desire a thick and luxurious bathrobe, I shall have delivered to you the finest London has to offer.  In your choice of colors!  Though, I suspect, you shall have to make do with solids or stripes, as none of London’s purveyors of such things likely boasts a specimen with as _inspired_ a color palette as this one.”

      “That’s generous of you, love, but why spend money when it’s not necessary?  Seb will bring this one back and that’ll be that.    Oh, I have missed you, my beloved bathrobe… but we shall soon be together again.”

Sebastian set down Mycroft’s coffee and snarled his disappointment at Mycroft’s failed diplomacy attempt before snatching up his mobile, snapping a pic of Mycroft and making sure Mycroft saw him store it in a new folder in his cloud storage called High-Priority Targets.  Luckily, the arrival of the plates of breakfast precluded Mycroft getting on his own mobile and calling up Sebastian’s classified file and marking it with the vibrant red he used for ‘handle immediately’ in retaliation.  Yes, he was reduced to childish payback mentality, but… sometimes immaturity was a _perfectly_ acceptable response to a situation.

      “This is nice, isn’t it?  Getting the morning started properly with a good breakfast and a spot of conversation.  I know what my day looks like and we know Seb’s, how about yours, love?  Do you feel well enough for another day in your study or might that be a better idea for tomorrow after a bit more rest?”

      “I believe I am sufficiently rested to tend to the day’s business in my study.  I do not expect it to be a somewhat arduous one, however, as the number of texts and emails on my mobile numbers less than thirty.  That is a very auspicious beginning.”

      “Good, then.  You know, I was thinking… if you’re busy all day and I’ve got a bodyguard I can rely on, couldn’t I go out with Seb for… fuck me, sorry I said anything.”

Being glared at by two people who had glaring down to a science was a bit much even for someone as pugnacious as Greg.

      “You’re staying here, Dad.”

      “The arrival of your son, Gregory, does not diminish the threat to your safety and you cannot imperil it by being freely visible in public.”

      “But…”

      “Don’t start an argument, Dad, not on this.  Mycroft’s right.  Someone wants you dead and sticking your head up to the make the shot easier isn’t smart.  Go read a book or something.  Educate yourself.”

      “I am!  Oh, Seb… you’ve got to see Mycroft’s library.  It’s brilliant!  Really, truly fucking brilliant.  So is his exercise room.  You should do a turn in there and work off that flab I see forming around your middle.  Got to keep your fighting trim if you want to stay at the top of your game.”

      “Exercise room?  Really?”

      “Notice how I’m hard, fit and sexy?  Working this gorgeous body every day with state-of-the-art equipment was just the thing for it.  And look at Mycroft’s panther-like sleekness!  We’ve got a hundred years on you, son, and we’re in incredible shape.  Use us as role models.  Now, eat your sausages and get your arse out to liberate my bathrobe.  We can share a sweaty hour or so working off these sausages when you come back.”

While Mycroft preened slightly at his description, he took a moment to acknowledge the small feeling of relief that Moran was squarely on his side for the issue of his Gregory’s safety.  It would have been a herculean battle if son and father had banded together to present a united front, but Sebastian was, apparently, equally concerned as him about Gregory being unnecessarily exposed to danger.  With his lover’s immeasurable stubbornness, any and all allies on the issue were gladly welcome.

      “I’ll need to sweat, too.  Get the ghastliness from that bloody awful robe out of my pores.  It’s a fucking weaponized disaster of fashion.  Seeps right in and sucks the life out of you.  Don’t know how you’re immune.  Probably the bad life you’ve led.”

      “I _have_ led a bad life, that’s true.  But, it’s always the bad characters that are the most interesting, and sexy, so I’m alright with that.  How about you, love?  You alright with my bad, yet handsome, self?”

Mycroft made an extended show of dabbing his mouth and taking a long sip of his coffee before responding.

      “Given another option has not presented itself, I suppose I must endure.”

      “Your stiff upper lip might be the only thing about you that’ll be stiff tonight after that answer.”

      “I have full confidence in my panther-esque wiles swaying your position to one more favorable to my wants.”

      “Yeah, you’re right.  I don’t know why I even tried.”

      “Because you are not a shy, shrinking violet, much to my delight.”

Sebastian stole a forkful of his father’s beans, watched Greg beam brightly and shook his head at the middle-aged… cuteness.  His father had the worst luck for romance, so how he fell into the arms of one of the world’s most powerful and dangerous men, was anyone’s guess.  But… he wasn’t going to complain.  His dad was happy.  Not just content or settled or comfortable, but _happy_.  How this would ultimately work, he had no idea, but if there was any way to keep this nauseatingly-cute, elderly couple together, he’d put his shoulder to the cause and make it happen.  His dad wanted it and more importantly, his dad _deserved_ it.  Besides… it was more than a slight relief to know his father had the protection of one of the very few people in the world as capable of and dedicated to providing it as him.  The world was an ugly place, at times, and if he couldn’t be here every day to see his father safe, it was good know there was someone who was.  He’d never thought he’d have reason to thank the British government, but Sebastian Moran was nothing if not flexible when the situation called for it… 

__________

John's slavish devotion to trivialities was unutterably boring.  His lecturing on it exceeded even that level of boringness, which was a rather impressive feat, all things considered.  Yes, he had keys to Mycroft’s house, but why use them when breaking in offered far more interest?  If John preferred to take the tedious and predictable route of entering via the front door, that was his dreary decision.  This was, unquestionably, the more stimulating path and, as a side benefit, offered the opportunity to practice the new lock picking techniques Lestrange had demonstrated, which, it must be said, were both effective _and_ quieter than others he had mastered.

And, with just another slight twist… yes.  One lock tidily picked and it was _not_ cheating to have on hand the disarm code for Mycroft’s security system.  Were he some form of terrorist, he could have acquired it by torture or trading the information for cake, so this was still in the realm of possibility for an unassisted incursion.  Now, it was a matter of avoiding Mycroft’s lapdog so that he could procure…

      “Not another step or your shirt is going to be ruined by a very large hole and more blood than a body can survive if you actually _see_ it on your shirt.”

Sherlock turned towards the voice and was more intrigued than frightened by the tall, blond man standing in Mycroft’s house pointing a gun at his chest, especially since he had a bottle of beer in his non-pointing hand.

      “And you are?”

      “Your executioner, apparently.”

      “That is rather vainglorious of you.”

Now it was Sebastian’s turn to be intrigued, but anyone breaking into the house where his in-hiding dad was living was at the end of their lives, intriguing or not.

      “Perhaps, but truth doesn’t care about conceit.”

Sherlock refused to let his inner pout show, but… there _was_ pout.  The oaf was not supposed to know the meaning of vainglorious!  The one thing more aggravating than being held at gunpoint, was being held at gunpoint by a beer-drinking villain with acceptable vocabulary skills!  Must rally to impress upon the scoundrel his position of mental superiority!

      “I debate the point concerning truth, since one might argue that you would only be my executioner _after_ the deed was done, so assuming the title now was somewhat presumptuous on your part.”

      “Ok… you have a point.  It’s an easy one to fix, though.”

The hardening of his opponent’s eyes, set Sherlock’s inner alarms blaring and it was pure instinct that had him diving behind the sofa, which took the bullet meant for him with a heavy ‘phuf’ and spray of padding.

      “What the fuck!”

      “Back in the kitchen, dad!  Got a rat to kill.”

      “Rats are both intelligent and cunning, so if that was your attempt at an insult, it failed in a scientifically-demonstrable fashion!”

      “Sherlock, get off the floor!  Seb… stand down!  Mycroft… oh.  You can stand down, too, love.  But don’t you look _fucking_ hot with a gun in your hand.”

Mycroft quickly took in the situation and sighed a heavy sigh, lowering the gun he’d grabbed from his desk drawer when he heard Sebastian’s shot ring out.  The only salvation here was that his Gregory’s grin guaranteed their intimacy tonight would threaten to set their bed on fire.

      “I see.  Sherlock, there is an object termed a door.  Henceforth, that shall be your only method of ingress into my home.  Sebastian, kindly do not assassinate any more of my furniture.  Gregory… a scotch, if you please.  I believe another… family conference is in order.”

      “Of course, love.  Want me to bring the bottle?”

Looking between Sherlock and Sebastian who were doing their best to out-glare each other, the answer was clear.

      “Bring two.  This could be a long afternoon…”


	27. Chapter 27

      “I refuse to sit at the same table as this… ruffian.”

Greg stopped Seb’s gun from rising before it intruded on their conversation and yanked out a chair for Sherlock, glaring until the detective dropped into it with a thunderous snort.

      “Refuse or not, you’re sitting… you’re _both_ sitting… and we’re going to have a chat to sort out a few things.  Love, you want to start this while I pour your drink?”

Mycroft smiled and nodded, letting that smile sour slightly as he took his seat and looked at the two younger men, currently failing to acknowledge that the other existed, despite being seated in adjacent chairs.

      “How delightful.  My brother no better than a common burglar and my… guest… sees fit to destroy an exceedingly tasteful sofa.  Truly, this day is without compare.”

      “The rat is your brother?  I feel very fucking sorry for you, Mycroft.  I can still take care of him if you’d like.  I suspect he’s a bastard at the best of times, so that’ll be one worry off your mind and I promise I’ll turn a hose on the courtyard once I’m done… handling… the corpse.  Those flowers outside will be very happy with the extra nutrients in the soil, too.”

Sherlock’s loud squawk made Sebastian smile and Mycroft sigh painfully as he happily accepted his scotch from Greg.

      “Despite his rather troublesome nature, I have no desire to see Sherlock murdered at this particular point in time.”

      “That implies another time might work fine.  Just let me know and I’ll see it done.  Painlessly, even, if you prefer, for sentimentality’s sake.”

      “Why is no one bothered by the fact I am being threatened!”

      “Because they don’t like you, rat.’

      “Stop saying I’m a rat!”

      “Want some cheese?”

      “ENOUGH!”

Even Mycroft startled slightly at Greg’s bellow, but was very happy his lover had been the one to do it as it allowed him time to take a very large sip of his libation and wonder at what point his Gregory and he could take a cozy holiday to a location unknown by the two toddlers sitting across the table from him.

      “Sorry, Dad.”

This second squawk was followed by Sherlock’s finger pointing accusingly at Greg, then at Mycroft, then back to Greg as if he was trying to physically spread the blame between the two men.

      “This… gangster is your son!”

      “I’ve never been in a gang in my life, rat.”

      “STOP SAYING…”

      “Seb, don’t call Sherlock a rat anymore.  It’s not polite and his face isn’t at all rat-like, so it really doesn’t fit.  And, yes, Sherlock, this three year-old is my son Sebastian.  Since you’re three, also, you should get along swimmingly.”

      “How can this thug be your son?  Sebastian has far too many letters for you to spell it properly, Lestrange.”

      “Hey!  Just because dad’s a porn actor doesn’t mean he’s stupid!  Gives that brother of yours a challenge, so shut the fuck up.”

Sherlock’s pointing finger shot up again, aimed straight at Greg, but, after a moment, a look came into his eyes, which he cut towards Mycroft and narrowed slightly as he took in his older brother’s pointed ignoring of the entire situation.

      “PORN?  Disgraceful. That’s… wait.  John said he had seen your work.”

Greg brightened happily and Mycroft was quite happy, himself, for the turning of his brother’s attention back to a less scrutinizing direction.

      “Now, the truth’s out there, I can say that, yes, John’s seen my work.  Saw me dance, too.  Properly appreciated my talent, which is something I always treasure.”

      “DANCING!  I… I may be ill.  I _will_ be ill.  The mental image is horrifying...”

One gun was raised quickly and pressed directly against Sherlock’s temple.

      “Don’t you insult my dad, rat.  He does honest work and you _will_ show respect or you won’t be able to show _anything_ else _ever_ again.”

      “ASSAULT!”

      “Sebastian… don’t shoot Sherlock in Mycroft’s nice kitchen.  We eat here, for pity’s sake.  But, Sherlock, Seb’s right… I make an honest living and I’d appreciate your not insulting the way I earn my wage.  Or this stunning body that does the earning for me.”

Sherlock’s gagging was not at all impeded by Sebastian’s gun staying against his temple no matter how hard he shuddered and choked.

      “Sherlock…”

Greg’s no-nonsense tone stopped Sherlock’s drama, but brought forth another mighty pout, this one very visible to the men in the room.

      “Oh, very well.  I will not degrade your already degraded profession or comment unfavorably upon your obviously aged and unattractive body, provided your lummox of a son stops pointing a gun at me.”

Realizing that was Sherlock’s best possible agreement, Greg nodded and motioned Sebastian to stow his weapon, knowing full well that another slip on Sherlock’s part would bring it back again in an instant.

      “Good.  Thank you for that.”

      “I would know, however, why you, an adult _entertainer_ , is here in Mycroft’s house and, further, why, in Mycroft’s house, your son feels compelled to carry a firearm.”

Greg cut his own eyes towards Mycroft, who realized his quiet holiday planning had come to an end.

      “The first, brother, is known to you already.  Gregory was involved in a situation of some importance and, for the reason of his personal safety, he has been here and his whereabouts have not been advertised.  As for the second… it is a function of Sebastian’s profession that he has a level of comfort with weaponry and, apparently, makes a habit of having one or more on his person at any given time.”

      “And his profession is?”

Before Mycroft could answer, Sebastian smiled tauntingly and leaned in close to purr ‘Assassination’s my game, and, now, I’ve got _your_ name.’ into Sherlock’s ear.

While both Mycroft and Greg sighed and rolled their eyes, Sherlock’s lips pursed, froze a moment, then turned to meet Sebastian’s grinning face, less than two inches separating them.

      “Moran.”

      “Fuck me, the rat knows my name.”

      “STOP CALLING ME A RAT!”

      “Dad!  This one here knows me.  I think he’s got to die now.”

Mycroft’s tutting and ‘do stop causing mischief, Sebastian’ gesture was entirely insufficient, in Sherlock’s opinion, something he expressed by stealing Mycroft’s scotch and slapping away all attempts to steal it back.

      “You refuse to protect my life, you lose the right to alcohol.”

      “Your life is not in danger, Sherlock… NO… do _not_ interrupt Sebastian, for you have done quite enough already to bolster my headache.  However, brother dear, I do believe we all would like to know how you came into possession of Sebastian’s identity.”

      “ _I_ would like to know why you have a highly sought-after assassin and sniper drinking beer in your kitchen.”

      “He is Gregory’s son and, as such, is welcome here.”

      “That is the most distal of reasons, and you are highly aware of that fact.”

      “Untrue.  It is the most relevant of reasons.  Sebastian is Gregory’s son, and, unsurprisingly, has an interest in his father’s welfare.  And your source of information?”

      “His name is not unknown among what passes for law enforcement in London.  Scotland Yard has some noted interest in his whereabouts.”

      “Scotland Yard wants to find me?  They couldn’t find their arse with both hands, so good luck with that.”

Sherlock shot a look at his adversary, but found himself nodding in agreement.

      “That is true.  Such is the reason they would founder helplessly if I did not intercede on their most pressing, and interesting, cases.”

      “What’s that mean?”

      “ _My_ profession is that of consulting detective.  I am consulted when the dullwits cannot draw their case to a close.  Unfortunately, that describes most of their cases, so I must enforce a standard of interest and importance for my participation.  And, for your information, my success rate is without compare.”

This time, it was Sebastian scrutinizing Sherlock and stealing the glass of scotch, which now seemed to be a communal refreshment.

      “The Whitcombe business.  That you?”

Greg and Mycroft shared a slightly wide-eyed look, but didn’t let their burning curiosity intrude on the conversation, which might be heading in a direction that had both their cautious approval.

      “If I had not shown Dimmock and his pack of trained monkeys their numerous and idiotic errors, it is highly doubtful that any of the embezzled money would have been located or that they would have compiled sufficient information to determine, without question, that he was the one who murdered his wife.  That _his_ murderer was never identified…”

      “HA!  I wondered who was on my trail.  I’ll give you this much, Ratlock, you got closer than most.  Whitcombe was stupid enough to steal from people who were owed favors by other people who… well, let’s just say they were happy to pay back a favor or two and line my pockets in the process.  Besides, the arse killed his wife.  She didn’t do anything wrong, besides say she wanted a divorce when his embezzlement was made public.  Thought killing her would be cheaper than paying a settlement.  He was mistaken.”

Sherlock’s body language changed slightly, letting Mycroft and Greg hear a small crack in the wall of ice between the combatants. 

      “Your methods were most efficient.  It is not often that I am presented with so few clues to pursue.  Though clues _were_ left, so there is certainly room for improvement.”

And, this smile of Sebastian’s was one the older men recognized as a genuine one.  A few more cracks sounded in the distance and fingers were crossed tightly beneath Mycroft’s kitchen table.

      “I work clean, that’s part of why I’m successful.  And expensive.  But, you came closer to puzzling me out than anyone has in a long time, so your own methods have to be fairly efficient, too.  Though you _didn’t_ catch me, so there is certainly room for improvement.”

The older men held their breath as they watched their two pups circle each other, sniffing and snapping, though in that particular manner that said they had caught the scent of something they actually found interesting about their rival.  Hearteningly, where there was interest…

      “You are _Lestrange’s_ son.  Curious.”

      “I’m _Moran’s_ son, so not so curious.”

      “Ah, an affectation.  I cannot muster any surprise, given he works in… entertainment.  Of course, I cannot also muster any surprise he affected something as distressing as Lestrange, given the countless other options available.”

      “Better than what he was born with.”

      “Oh?  Do tell.”

With breath rushing back, Mycroft and Greg cleared their throats and leaped into the fray for the health and sanity of the fragile, young detective.

      “That is not the issue of the moment, Sherlock.  The issue is Gregory’s welfare, which Sebastian is here to safeguard, and that will not be possible if you choose to trumpet his presence to the members of Scotland Yard.”

      “Why would I do that?”

Small tendrils of relief wove their way into Mycroft’s chest and he reminded himself that he had yet to purchase for his brother the dead pig and shipping container he so desperately wanted.

      “Because, as you noted, he is a wanted individual and by more organizations than our NSY.”

      “At present, to my knowledge, Sebastian Moran is not a person of interest in any open case for which I have involvement.”

Once again, Sherlock’s narrow focus of attention came racing to the fore and Mycroft, as well as Greg, were very happy for it.

      “Tell me what you’re looking into and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

      “NO!  Seb, no good comes from… poking at things.  Sherlock’s nicely not going to hand you over to the police and you’re nicely not going to question it.  Or shoot him.”

      “But, Daaaaaaaaaaad…”

      “That didn’t work when you were twelve and wanted a blowgun and it won’t work now.”

      “I have a blowgun.”

Seb looked over at Sherlock like the detective was his new best friend and the older generation felt their previous elation deflate like a popped balloon.  Perhaps a truce between these two was _not_ something to anyone’s benefit.

      “What do you tip the darts with?”

      “Sebastian, kindly do not tilt Sherlock’s thoughts in the direction of exotic poisons.”

      “Why not?  If Moran has information on that topic, I would very much like to hear it.  It could be invaluable for a future case.”

Yes, quickly becoming allies and Greg mourned that Mycroft’s glass had been emptied in the pass around the table.  Fortunately, the bottle held more, lots more…

      “Yeah, Mycroft, how about you and Dad toddle off for tea or whatever it is old people do and we’ll sit here and chat about poisons.”

      “I believe…”

Actually, I do not, however, one does not ignore assets, no matter the agony of recognizing them…

      “… that matters, at this stage, would be best served by a free and open discussion of the situation so that Sherlock is possessed of all relevant details and no longer has cause to question the various issues and tactics towards their resolution.”

      “That a posh way of saying we’re going to fill your brother in on Dad’s problem?”

      “Verily, it is so.”

      “I’m starting to wonder if Sherlock here is the one to feel sorry for.”

Sherlock, not anything rodent-related.  Yes, the days of relative tranquility were a thing of the past… holiday, my dear Gregory, we certainly need to begin our planning soon…

      “I am, of that there is no doubt.  Fatcroft has plagued my life since my birth and that I have any degree of sentience is attributable only to my formidable will and boundless intellect.”

      “Which just means you’re a smart pain in the arse.”

      “If one is a vulgarian, assassin, then yes.”

Greg set down a fresh glass of scotch next to Mycroft and patted his shoulder commiseratively.  It was a fucking joy to see his son being part of something instead of watching from the sidelines, but this something was going to be the source of chaos for a long time to come.  Might need another clear head on hand to keep the lid on the bedlam.

      “I’ve got an idea… Sherlock, why don’t you ring John and see if he’ll stop in for a visit.  Might as well pull him into the tent with the rest of us.”

      “I have no interest in ever being in a tent with you, Lestrange.”

      “That’s wise, Sherlock, because I can tell you from experience, it’s fucking horrible.  Dad took me tenting once and he farted so much the air became unbreathable within ten minutes.  I had to sleep outside in the cold and rain.  Family of hedgehogs took pity on me and snuggled in to keep me warm.  I welcomed the pricks and barbs because it was a thousand times more pleasant than Dad’s toxic air pollution.”

      “I find that completely believable, as I have sampled his cooking and found my gastric and intestinal health severally compromised by the experience.”

Watching two smug bastards share a knowing nod made Greg want to cry, both with happiness and with dread, but, for now, the happiness was winning out and, from the look on his lover’s face, his Mycroft felt the same.  His Seb really didn’t have friends and if there was someone he might be able to talk to about the things that Seb _liked_ to talk about – weapons, poisons, breaking and entering – then it was a wonderful thing.  But, yeah, they needed John.  Soon.  It wouldn’t take long before the glint in each lad’s eye sparked into something that many hands would be needed to control and John had two to lend to the fight.  That would make a total of four, since one of his and Mycroft’s would likely still be clutching a glass of scotch.  Or a bottle of headache tablets.  Or both…

__________

      “Ah, Sherlock, you have cut your tether to your new bosom friend.”

The arrival of John and revelation that he had served as an Army doctor had propelled Sebastian into a new trajectory of conversation that was far less worrying than that between the assassin and the detective, though Sherlock was most put out by the diversion of attention.

      “If John and Sebastian are content to discuss boring military matters, that is their unfortunate choice.”

      “Yes, but I believe it is but a small respite in the more important conversation you were having concerning the most effective methods to camouflage knife wounds from pathologists.  Sebastian seemed most interested to hear the results of your research on the topic.”

Must reinforce Sherlock’s confidence in this new connection even if it threatened the existence of the very universe itself.

      “True, there is nothing in the current discourse which approaches that level of interest or importance.”

      “So, you decided to use this moment to join me in preparing tea?”

And selecting a large variety of biscuits to help absorb the rather shameful amount of scotch in his stomach.

      “Is that a joke?”

      “Apparently not.”

      “Good, for we have matters, ourselves, to discuss and they will not be improved by your feeble attempts at jocularity.”

Yes, the reason for the furtive scrutiny now presents itself for comment.

      “Begin.”

      “I recognize him.”

      “John?  I would hope so, else your relationship cannot be considered one of excessive warmth and familiarity.”

      “Lestrange… I knew I recognized him, but, rather ill-advisedly, allowed John’s lackluster explanation to settle the matter.  He and I will have our own discussion at a later time, but now… you knew who he was when you brought him here.”

LIE!  Lie as if the future of humanity depended upon it!

      “I assure you that you are quite mistaken.”

      “I have not forgotten, you know.”

Yes, you have.  You are hallucinating an entirely fabricated incident that certainly did not occur.

      “You are quite perplexing, Sherlock.  Perhaps a biscuit or two will clear away the confusion.”

And stuff your mouth into an inability to speak.

      “He was on the screen when I… walked in.”

No….. no no no no no no no… we will not revisit the single time you witnessed, albeit briefly, my… self-soothing.

      “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

So, kindly do the socially-appropriate thing, brother dear, and leave the subject alone.

      “Untrue.  You know very well to what I am referring.  And, if I remember correctly, you were home from Uni on holiday.”

Why did he place any faith in Sherlock behaving in a socially-appropriate manner?  Truly, this turn of conversation had disabled his intellect, likely permanently.

      “What a lovely place it must be in the imaginary world of your mind, brother dear.”

      “I also know about your collection.”

Oh no… no, that is _not_ possible….

      “Sherlock…”

      “A box labeled ‘economics texts’ was… I shall credit you with some attempt to use the crippling boredom of the topic to protect your secret, however, the credit shall be miniscule since it failed utterly.  It has been a very long time, Mycroft, but he has not changed to such a degree that he is no longer recognizable as the individual featured in the assortment of videos and magazines in your horde.”

Mycroft’s shoulders sagged as he realized that there would be no deterring Sherlock’s pursuit of the story and he could only hope his brother’s ever-present desire to cause turmoil, when, at least, his older sibling was involved, was taking a small holiday of its own.

      “Yet, you did not correctly place him, in terms of recognition.”

      “You admit it.”

      “It would be disingenuous to continue to do otherwise.  But, I would hope, you understand my reluctance to do so.”

The times when Sherlock was quiet were the times when Mycroft’s worries were at their highest level.

      “You were concerned it would affect your relationship?”

      “I was concerned… I truly do not know what, at first, was the source of my concern.  Embarrassment, most likely.  Shame… that is not something I would easily admit, even now, to Gregory for it indicates I found both my actions and his work to be a source of humiliation and he would view that poorly.”

      “Yes, he would.  Lestrange takes a rather curious amount of pride in the work he does.  And does not disparage those who consume his product.”

      “As you say.  Now… continued silence brings me no honor, but it avoids troubling conversations that I, honestly, wish never to have with him.  I… I care for him, Sherlock.  I met the man who formed the kernel of countless erotic fantasies and found him… so much more than I could ever have predicted.  He is _not_ Gerard Lestrange, not at all, beyond the most superficial of ways.  The man I have come to know is important to me, very important, in fact and… I worry greatly how his regard for _me_ will change if he were to know the truth.”

      “Do you still have it?  Your collection, I mean.”

      “That is not a question I shall answer.”

      “Meaning yes.”

      “You are free to interpret my words as you wish.”

      “And I shall.  I would know, though… will you ever tell him?  I suspect his regard for you will suffer more from accidental discovery than from a forthright revelation of the facts.”

      “Perhaps you are correct.  I simply… we are at a fragile stage, Sherlock.  Threads are weaving into a glorious tapestry that… that I hope will carry though my life… but they are not so tightly woven, I suspect, that they could not be unraveled by my revelation.  You might argue that is a flawed assessment and I would not belittle you for it, for I have nothing firm, nothing logical, on which to base my suspicion.  Fear, most likely.  Fear that something I believed would never touch my life is within my grasp and I am terrified, I confess, of seeing it wrest away.”

Sherlock had never heard his brother speak so purely from the heart and he experienced his own bit of terror at the sight, but… part of him understood.  It had been a truly frightening process to open himself to John and let the doctor know fully the man he was, both good and ill.  It would be even more frightening for his brother, that much he knew with grim certainty.

      “I will not divulge your secret.  I believe it to your benefit that it be known, but I will not be the one who brings it to light.”

Generally, when Sherlock surprised him, Mycroft felt a hole open in his core from realizing the amount of work it would take to repair whatever damage his brother had wrought, but this time… he felt a thick mass of warmth that was exactly as uncomfortable, but he embraced it with open arms.

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  That means a great deal to me.”

      “I still will not help you with the tea.”

And the door closes on the past.  And present, at least as far as this issue was concerned.  But, Mycroft could not, not for a moment, find it in himself to regret its opening.  Sherlock was a difficult brother, at times, but, often enough, came the reminders why he loved the horrid child who once used a magnifying glass to set his hair on fire while he laid on the grass to read a book.

      “I had no expectation that you would.  Might I, though I know it will be an onerous task, ask you to take the biscuits out so a start might be made on them?  I am certain Gregory would appreciate one and John does prefer a biscuit or two with his tea.”

      “Where are the Jammie Dodgers?”

There were some things genetics explained quite readily.

      “In the cupboard to your left.”

Sherlock reached in, took down his prize and simply dropped the unopened package onto Mycroft’s neatly arranged tray.

      “I am leaving.”

      “Bon voyage.”

As Sherlock stalked out of the kitchen, tray in hand, he paused a moment in the doorway and spared a thought for his brother.  Whereas he was lucky to have found John, Mycroft was immeasurably lucky to have found Greg.  Not many individuals were comfortable in his brother’s presence, for many reasons, but Lestrange found it a pleasant place to be and seemed in no hurry to be anywhere else.  There was no particular justice or fairness in this world, but it felt a bit as if there were seeing Mycroft granted something in the way of good fortune, especially in an area where he had previously seen naught.  It was still foolish for his brother to keep secrets, but that was ever Mycroft’s way and that was something that was not likely to change.  In this case, however, he would have support in his secret-keeping, as well as in building the life he so sorely desired.

Not that mention would ever be made of this, of course.  Mycroft was naturally insufferable and this would send that repugnant aspect of his personality to stratospheric heights.  Even the _thought_ of such a thing was sufficient, by leaps and bounds, to claim the Jammie Dodgers fully for himself.  Brother love only went so far and it certainly didn’t approach the ownership of biscuits…


	28. Chapter 28

      “I’m so sorry things went this late, love.”

      “I think, rather, you are _delighted_ for it”

      “Yeah, I was lying rather obviously wasn’t I?”

Greg’s naughty schoolboy grin earned him Mycroft’s most disapproving glower.  For half a second.  Then it was met by a satisfied smile that the minor government official felt all the way to his toes.  Sherlock had socialized!  Admittedly, it was socialization of a form that would send gentlefolk racing for the hills, but his brother had actively and enthusiastically participated in conversation with someone besides Doctor Watson, Mrs. Hudson or Molly Hooper and that was a joyful thing to behold.

      “Disastrously so, I’m afraid.”

      “Couldn’t help it… it was glorious to watch, Mycroft.  Seb was never the most social boy.  He’d kick a ball around with a few mates or get into a spot of mischief with a partner or two, but… never built any real friendships.  He was happier spending time at home, going off to the library, tossing rocks at bottles… little bastard working on his aim from the very beginning!  Now, he really _can’t_ let many people get close to him, so a night like this is something I’m fucking thrilled for.  Did you see how happy he was!  Had a marvelous time talking to Sherlock and John about things he enjoyed… it was brilliant.  Positively brilliant.”

Fatherly pride and joy beamed off Greg like laser light and Mycroft found himself laughing and taking his lover in a warm kiss.

      “It was much the same for Sherlock, though without the ball kicking or rock tossing.  Or partner-based mischief-making, as he was far more content to perpetrate his mischief alone.  He _did_ enjoy this evening, however, that much is certain.  When he speaks on issues of interest, Sherlock is tremendously animated, something that often frightens others as he is generally speaking to himself at the time, but… he was highly engaged, Gregory, and I suspect he will not even hold against Sebastian the rather turbulent manner in which they met.”

      “I’ll pay for the sofa, Mycroft.  Seb can get a bit.. tunnel-visioned when he’s got a target in sight.”

      “It is quite alright, my dear.  I am most used to my furnishings meeting untimely ends given Sherlock’s propensity to be the harbinger of household doom and shall have another sofa delivered tomorrow, though I must admit that the current one would act as an intriguing conversation starter for the occasional visitor I host in this house.”

      “Oh, we could create a truly brilliant story for that!   But, the leaking padding might not be the kindest thing for someone’s fine suit if they had a seat.’

      “There is that, true.  Alas, the requirements of fashion win the day and our deceased colleague shall be resigned to a skip.”

      “I’ll say some nice words over it as the lads take it away.  _And_ make that son of mine do a few household things to show he’s sorry.  Laundry, cleaning, gardening…”

      “Gardening?”

      “He’s brilliant with that!  You wouldn’t expect it of Seb, not at all, but not long after he came to live with me, I caught him a few times watching gardening programs on the telly and when we were out doing the shopping I’d notice him looking at supplies and things.  When I realized that this wasn’t some passing interest, but something he that really held his attention and might like to do, I may, only _may_ , mind you, have done a little deal for a large box of free videos, you know what kind I mean, too, in exchange for being put at the head of the waiting list for a local allotment and… you should have seen his eyes when I walked him there the first time.  Didn’t tell him I was doing it either, came as a total surprise… you’d have thought I handed him a royal scepter when I pressed a new spade into his hand.”

Mycroft absolutely adored the light in Greg’s eyes as he talked about his son and suspected that same light lit in his own eyes when he talked about Sherlock.  At least, for his brother’s less-damaging escapades.

      “I tell you, Mycroft, he took that allotment as seriously as anything he’s ever done and would spend hours at the library reading everything they had on growing things or talking to people about what they did and how well it worked.  I helped when I could, which was… it was fantastic is what it was.  Me and Seb working together on a Sunday morning or afternoon… and you should have seen what he grew!  Vegetables that could have won prizes, and tasted… let me just say they put the stuff you get from a grocer solidly to shame.  Grew some flowers, too, especially if they brought in things like butterflies or bees.  People would tell me how nice it was to see such a serious-minded boy, someone not afraid of hard work and truly clever… did his plantings smartly, which isn’t something everyone does.  I thought maybe he’d go in that direction for a career, but… well, there’s not a lot of jobs in that area, really, unless you go and buy a farm.  He didn’t have interest in working at a private or public garden… didn’t have much interest in doing anything for other people’s enjoyment, just his own, not that he didn’t soak up praise from other gardeners about his accomplishments.”

Again, something Mycroft could well understand, given Sherlock’s highly focused approach to his work.  He pursued his cases and his experiments for his own benefit and, that they helped others, was an ancillary boon, at best.

      “When he joined the Army, that was his biggest concern, oddly… what would happen to his allotment.  AGAIN, I had to step behind the scenes and make certain that the person who took over his plot was actively interested and would do a good job with it.  Little bastard checked, too, when he’d come home on leave.  Take a peek to see his little spot of Eden was thriving.  It hurt that he wasn’t the one working it, but… he was happy it was always well-tended.  Still is!  Saw it… had to be six or seven months ago and it was just a joy to see a dad, much younger than me, with his pack of dirty-fingered kids making an Eden of their own.  Just a fine thing to watch, a fine thing indeed…”

Mycroft marveled, not for the first time, how a man with such an aggressive and forward streak in his personality also had a heart larger than any he had ever known.  The newly-discovered complexities in Sebastian’s nature were becoming less and less puzzling…

      “Given such an impressive resume, I shall gladly accept his help with my meager parcel of property.”

      “It needs it, too.”

Oh?

      “Oh?”

      “Too… professional.  All tidy and pretty and not really shrieking with life, like a good bit of land should be.”

      “Dear me, I do hope Sebastian will not plant mandrakes to remedy the naturalistic silence.”

      “I’ll make certain he doesn’t because I wouldn’t put it past him to try his hand at something new.  Maybe he and Sherlock can work on it together.  Plant all sorts of poisonous things that Sherlock would adore experimenting on.”

      “I do suspect that is not as fantastical a suggestion as you believe, since Sherlock has done similar with Mummy’s gardens.  His proverbial green thumb was cut from his hand, however, after a series of suspicious pet illnesses in the area.”

      “Oh, that’s a thing.  You’ll have to get one of those stray cats to patrol your courtyard and keep all invaders at bay.  Cheap solution, really.  A tin or two of food a day and a few catnip plants tucked in away from the toxic lot and you’ve got a fantastic security system so the neighbors don’t arrive with a dead poodle in one hand and a solicitor in the other.”

      “A laudable suggestion.  My, the household has become a lively place, both indoors and out.”

Something Mycroft had never pursued until he found the one person who made that liveliness a truly wonderful thing.

      “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

      “The occupation being?”

      “Lover of the most lively man in existence.  And, that, in case you were wondering who the lively bloke in question was, is me.”

      “Ah, I see.  I appreciate the clarification for I did harbor a small suspicion about it being the postman.”

      “Give him a little thrill for special deliveries?”

      “One must reward good service.”

      “I absolutely agree.  And, since you’ve given me exceptional service today…”

      “I am aflutter with anticipation.”

      “I’ve got an idea.”

      “Shall I enjoy it?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Then do proceed.”

Oh, when Gregory smiled his wicked smile, there was no doubt matters were poised to take a very delicious turn, and, yes, starting to carefully remove the garments from my body is a most succulent start.

      “Look at this… so gorgeous.  You are, without question, a gorgeous man, Mycroft Holmes.  And the impressive scar you’re going to have from that cannon shot is just going to enhance your gorgeousness.  I do admire a man of action.”

      “I received that wound while standing still.”

      “Don’t bring your facts into my fantasy.”

      “Of course.  Apologies.”

      “However… that does make me wonder what other facts you might throw out to do their sullying worst.  Better see to that early.”

With both joy and arousal seeping into bones, Mycroft happily allowed himself to be led to the bed, where Greg made certain everything was arranged for comfort before continuing on.

      “Breathtaking.  I literally could look at you for hours.  Just a breathtaking man you are, Mycroft and that, alone, deserves a nice bit of reward.  Now, what seems appropriate…”

Nearly giggling with glee, Mycroft watched Greg bring out his big red box and make an elaborate show of rummaging through it.

      “There… I think that’s just the thing for tonight.  It’s late, so we don’t want to get too complicated.”

Something black and leathery emerged from the box, as well as the long strips of blue cloth that Mycroft remembered with great fondness.

      “Alright, lean your head forward just a tad?”

Securing the gag snugly around Mycroft’s head and making certain that it fully covered his mouth without being too tight, Greg then propped up Mycroft's head a bit with his pillow and stood back to grin at the sight.

      “Beautiful.  How’s that feel?”

Settling, oddly.  No concern about providing the proper responses or praises for his Gregory, no concern about… anything.

      “Look at you with the thumb’s up!  It’s got a removable center, too, and I’ve got things that we can put through, if you like, but tonight… tonight I feel like something a bit different.  Now, I won’t hear you easily if you have a problem, so snap your fingers if you need my attention or something’s wrong, ok?”

Another thumb’s up made Greg nod and he wasted no time using the strips of blue cloth to secure Mycroft’s hands and feet to the bedposts, so his lover was spread-eagled and already gaining that look in his eyes that Greg knew mean his Mycroft was sinking contentedly into a nice pool of bliss.

      “Indescribable.  You're positively stunning and let’s see…”

Greg ran a finger along Mycroft’s thigh, which trembled at the contact and adored once again how responsive his lover was to his touch.

      “Smooth, warm… lovely skin for a lovely man.  This bit’s not so smooth, but I’ll give it a feel anyway…”

Your bollocks are simply majestic, dear man, and… oh, of course…

      “No.  You do _not_ try and direct things here, Mycroft.  No thrusting or twisting or doing a single thing besides lying there and letting me do what I please.”

Like that bit of growl I tossed in at the end?  Yes, you certainly did since your body contorted perfectly without actually contorting at all.  Funny how watching muscles try _not_ to move is just as sexy as watching muscles _actually_ move…

      “That’s better.  Now, let’s see how well you’ve learned your lesson.”

Giving Mycroft’s cock and balls a wealth of attention, both gentle and firm, Greg hummed approvingly at how still his lover remained though the struggle was a mighty one.  As was the degree of erection he achieved from the play.  Mycroft’s meds had been lowered over the past day or so and his system seemed very happy to celebrate the accomplishment.

      “What a pretty cock you have.  Long and straight and such a rosy color he takes on when he’s awake and alert.  And these hefty fellows… they remind me of a couple of Seb’s prize tomatoes… and that just makes me want to take a little taste of this banquet.  Remember, I’m in charge here, so no misbehavior.”

Not an easy thing to do, admittedly when someone has your cock and balls in his mouth and that mouth is _very_ talented at taking the pleasure straight to the top of the scale, but you’re doing a splendid job, love.  So splendid, in fact, that it’s time for a small break and another type of fun to be had… oh, I’ve been looking forward to this…

      “So very good you’re being.  Now, I’m going to have a little fun myself.  Got to stay in practice, don’t I?  But, I won’t leave you lonely, I promise.  This certainly wouldn’t be happy…”

Using a whisper-soft touch, Greg ran his fingers beneath Mycroft’s balls, not quite touching something that began twitching with hopeful need.  His Mycroft did crave being filled up, didn’t he?  Not every time they had a bit of fun, though… good to leave something feeling special and precious and fucking his Mycroft silly was the perfect thing for it.  However, now was a good time for a little extra stimulation and he had just the thing…

Keeping his most menacing smile in place, Greg stepped back to the red box and drew out a selection of butt plugs, making certain to give an award-winning performance of examining each one, running his hands over them, cutting eyes over at Mycroft, who was quivering heavily with want, before finally choosing a long, slim model with a nubby texture that would be easy to insert without a lot of prep, but give his lover a fantastic sensation as he clenched around it.  

      “This one, I think.  Now, I want you to stay very still while I get this inside of you.  No pushing or wriggling or I put it away, do you understand?”

Mycroft’s frantic nodding was met with Greg’s no-nonsense purse of his lips, though he was doing the hula in his mind.  His Mycroft was incredible to pleasure.  He didn’t hold back a bit making his needs known and that was both tremendously helpful and extremely fun.

      “That’s my good Mycroft.  Tiny reward for being so good?”

Giving Mycroft’s right nipple a firm bite, Greg loved the highly muffled groan that hit his ears and lapped a second at the flesh to soothe the ache.

      “That’s what I like to see.  Nice and still even when I give you a little challenge.  Now we get to see how much of a challenge you can take and continue to lay quietly.”

Look at those wide, hopeful eyes… you relish the idea of a challenge, don’t you, love.  Arouses you terribly, doesn’t it… I’ll remember that, don’t you worry and make certain that part of you gets as fully satisfied as the rest of you.  But, for the moment, let me concentrate on being liberal with the lube and start twisting this eager chap into your more-than-eager body.  Add in some side to side and up and down motion to help stretch that pesky ring of muscle, but this plug is a good size for spontaneous fun so… yes, a little more lube and… was that a groan?  Because I made sure your happy button got a true and proper greeting?  Why, yes it was and hearing it muffled through that soft, black leather is something to boil the blood, let me tell you…

      “Excellent, Mycroft.  You’re doing very, very well.  I bet I could put a glass of wine on your belly and I wouldn’t see a drop spilled.  Maybe I’ll try that next time.”

This time, though, I’ll just get you settled quickly so you can have the next part of your treat.

      “Little more lube, bit of shove and… oh.  So fucking sexy looking with a plug in your arse.  When the kids are out for a day, I’ll fit you with a nice, thick one and make you spend the day naked for me to watch.”

And here we go… arousal shoots up, you try not to move, clench everything instead to keep you from moving and your lovely plug makes that a wild sensation you want to weep over because it so good.  I think my favorite toy shop sells one similar to this, but with a vibrator function and that’ll be our next purchase, I do believe.

      “Yeah, you like the idea of being on display for me.  Pleasing my eyes with that creamy skin, gorgeous cock and perfect arse.  Made all the more perfect with a shiny plug that says you know I’m in control and will do anything to make me happy.  Take anything, do anything, wear anything… you belong to me, Mycroft and you like it.”

As much as I adore your blue eyes, love, I also adore the jet black ones I see when you’re deep into the land of arousal, exactly like you are now.  You want that, don’t you, Mycroft?  You want to know that I chose you above everyone else and that you’re the one I want to be mine.  The one I want to please me and make me happy… something you do better than anyone I’ve ever known.  But, on with the show…

      “Now what I want from you is attention.  I don’t want your eyes off of me for a moment, not a single moment or I will be very unhappy.  Lie still and watch me and, if you do that properly, I’ll let you come when I’m finished.”

Seeing Mycroft’s chest rise with what was surely a gasp of excitement, Greg licked his lips and grabbed the remote for the sound system, cueing a playlist he’d put together beforehand and let it start playing quietly, but notably in the background.

And with that, he began to fall into the rhythm, letting his body respond to the emotion of the music, slowly removing his clothing with the sensuality only someone with his years of experience could muster.

      “Been wanting to practice a little and you make a brilliant audience.  I don’t usually dance completely naked, but tonight, I think I’ll make an exception.  I feel the urge to be a touch more natural…”

Gradually losing every article of clothing, Greg kept his eyes on the various little signs that his Mycroft was doing well with his gag and that he was completely mesmerized by the show.  And a show he would get… the inspiration of his belov… beautiful Mycroft lying there enticingly, drinking in every sway of this old bastard’s body… that was an inspiration they wrote poems about…

And, luckily, this old bastard knew how to move his body in just the ways that made men’s body burn with heat and grow that delicious pressure between the legs that screamed to be relieved with a truly deafening noise.  Something that his Mycroft couldn’t do, so he got to experience the continued ache and need and yearning for a good, long time until it was near to breaking his control and that was not something he could allow.  He was _not_ about to let his lover fail.

Untying one wrist, Greg rubbed the skin a moment then smiled his wicked smile at Mycroft yet again.

      “You’re hard, love.  Really and truly hard.  And it’s a misery, isn’t it?  It’s nearly overpowering how much you want to come right now and I’m so proud of you for doing as I asked and watching me dance.  Now, I want you to stroke yourself.  I’ll tell you how and I want you to do exactly as I say.  If you give _me_ a good show, you can come.  I’ll tell you when, though, so do _not_ let go before I say you're allowed.  Get started.”

Mycroft’s free hand shot down to his cock and the fact that, yes, he was actually fully erect was the only bit of real information that penetrated his sexual haze.

      “That’s good, but slower though.  I want to savor this.”

While Mycroft continued to stroke his cock, following Greg’s variety of instructions to the letter, Greg made certain to have him change speed or pressure when he got too close to the edge so his lover got to experience his pleasure as long as possible.  When it was clear that no amount of control was going to hold back Mycroft’s orgasm, Greg smiled and pressed his lips close to his partner’s ear.

      “Now, love.  Come for me.”

Not two seconds passed before Mycroft’s body jerked and a raw yell penetrated the gag, while semen pumped out onto Mycroft’s sweat-slicked body.

      “Perfect.  Simply perfect.  You’re magnificent, Mycroft…”

Quickly releasing the gag, Greg gave his partner a hard, passionate kiss that melted into something softer and sweeter as Mycroft’s breathing moved back towards normal.

      “So gorgeous, you pleased me very, very well.  Now, I want you to do to me just what you did to yourself.  Use that hand to make me come.  I don’t want to wait either, so you have one minute to make that happen.  Fail and I’ll see you spanked until your bottom glows…”

Oops… that shuddered intake of breath said a spanking would be _highly_ appreciated.  More information to file away.

      “…I’ll do it every night, too, for a week and never let you come once.”

There, that was an actual negative consequence.  His Mycroft was such a complex man and, really, what in the world was better than that?

      “Get started and I _am_ watching the clock.”

Not that there was any chance of him lasting a minute once his Mycroft’s hands began to work his cock, but he’d do his best to make this last and glare as the time got short, but… yeah, no.  No, here he was, blowing like a volcano in twenty seconds…

Greg let his orgasm run through him and made certain his semen sprayed on Mycroft’s body because marking territory was something of his own fetish.

      “Wonderful.  Bloody fucking wonderful.  Those hands of yours…”

Speaking of, it was time to get his Mycroft’s other hand and feet freed and checked for any issues, along with the well-healing wound in his side.  Then it was a quick slide of the plug out of his body and another gentle kiss for his lips.

      “How are you, love?  Happy?”

Happiness had been left behind ages ago.  He was now in a place that defied description; a place only his Gregory had ever escorted him...

      “I am deliriously happy, my dear.  That… I never fully realized… never fully understood…”

      “Your needs?”

Mycroft sighed and let a smile stretch across his lips.  Perhaps, with no one else, but the man looking at him with the most devoted gaze could he make this admission, but in Gregory’s hands he felt perfectly at ease with those particular wants.

      “Yes.  I have known this side of myself existed, to some extent…”

And I have always longed desperately to experience your strength, your ferocity…

      “… but I have never had opportunity to explore it.  Never… never been given the chance to take this side of the proverbial coin.”

Though, with you, it has been the focus of a lifetime’s fantasies.

      “I’m sorry for that, Mycroft.  I am truly, truly sorry but I will do everything in my power to make sure your needs will always be met.  Whatever I can do, whatever you want… it’s yours.  You are… you are so special, so fucking amazing… you’ll never want in vain again.  I promise you that.”

And, in Greg’s eyes, Mycroft saw both the truth and the commitment in that promise.  His Gregory had expressed his heart, a heart that had found where it wanted to remain and he knew that his own felt the same.  Not tonight would something more formal be declared, but… soon.  It was only, really, the uncertainty of his Gregory’s situation that kept him from stating clearly that he had fallen in love with the man softly stroking his cheek.  When that was over, when there were no obstacles in their path, a certain conversation would be had and… in his lover’s eyes was the reassurance it would be welcomed with open arms.

      “Now, one warm, wet flannel and a soft dry towel before bed?”

      “You read my mind.”

      “One of my many talents.  Just a moment, love.  I’ll be right back.”

Ok, yeah… there was no mistaking that look in Mycroft’s eyes.  No mistaking it at all.  This was fucking mind-blowing and fantastic and aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!  There was too much shit going on right now, too many distractions, but soon… soon there needed to be some candles and flowers and dinner and wine and three little words to leave no doubt that what he saw in his Mycroft’s was what he felt himself.  Or knowing him and his stupid impulsiveness, he’d blurt it out over breakfast.  Here’s your eggs and oh, by the way, I love you.  Yeah, that sounded more like him.  Hope Seb didn’t have heart failure.  Their luck with funerals wasn’t terribly good lately…


	29. Chapter 29

      “Ummmm…. I love the way you smell after a shower.”

Mycroft smiled as two strong arms came from behind him to wrap around his waist, while Greg breathed in the scent of his skin and laid soft kisses along his naked shoulder.

      “Then I shall increase their frequency so you may enjoy the aroma numerous times per day.”

      “But, then I won’t get to enjoy as often your ‘skin in an exquisite suit’ smell or your ‘just hot enough for a bit of perspiration on the skin’ smell or any of the others I love, too.”

      “Which would be a terrible tragedy.”

      “It would.  Terrible doesn’t even describe it.  Once or twice a day is perfect.  Besides, since this also gives me a chance to have my hands on your gorgeous body, I’d see every day devoted to nothing but showing you how amazing I think you are and you’d get no work done!”

And, to emphasize his point, Greg made certain to press close to Mycroft’s mostly-naked form and run his hands over his chest and belly, teasing the knot that held closed the towel around Mycroft’s waist as he placed kisses along his lover’s long neck.

      “Your point is a highly valid one, my dear.  I bow to your analytical prowess.”

      “Always wanted to have prowess, so job well done I’d say.  More work in your super-secret study today?”

      “Yes, though I suspect it shall only be today and, perhaps, tomorrow before I return to my more typical routine.”

      “John’s got to clear that first.”

      “I have no doubt he shall and you cannot impeach his impartiality when he does.”

      “Can, too.”

      “Gregory…”

      “If he’s drunk when he examines you I can impeach the _fuck_ out of his impartiality.”

Mycroft caught Lestrade’s eye in the bathroom mirror and glared his mightiest glare which, as expected, made his lover giggle and grin in response.

      “I told you, Mycroft… I’m a bad, bad man.”

      “ _That_ has my fullest agreement.”

      “Something else was full last night, too.  You like watching me dance.”

Gregory dancing was… magical.  The most erotically-entrancing thing he had ever witnessed.  His movements so perfectly matched to the music, anyone who… oh dear…

      “Mycroft?”

      “What?  Oh… do pardon me.  I was simply…”

      “Thinking about me dancing for other men?”

      “I…”

      “Don’t lie to me, Mycroft. You know how well that goes.”

Yes, unfortunately.

      “Very well… yes, that thought did arise in my mind.”

      “And you didn’t like it, did you?”

      “It was not the most gladdening, no.”

Greg sighed and gave Mycroft a gentle squeeze, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

      “You know I have to go back to work, right?  When you find out who’s trying to kill me, I have to go back and do my job.”

Yes, though the thought of it has been very successfully blocked from my consciousness until now.

      “I do.”

      “And you don’t like that either.”

      “No, I do not.”

      “Mycroft, we’ve talked about this…in a roundabout way, at least.  It’s just a job for me.”

      “I am aware of that, but I am also aware of the… have you any idea how glorious are you, Gregory?  It is… I cannot begin to describe the sensations I experience when I see your body, hear your voice, watch you move… it is not a sight for unworthy eyes and... I cannot imagine, not in the slightest, that of those who gaze upon you, only the scantest few might be described as anything other than _unworthy_.”

Kissing his lover’s shoulder and nuzzling it slightly, Greg adored how Mycroft could phrase sheer jealousy in such a complimentary fashion.

      “You’re just jealous.”

      “Perhaps… and I shall not apologize for that.”

      “It won’t stop me working.”

      “No, I am also aware of that particular fact.”

      “Is it… Mycroft, I need to know now if we’re going to have a problem.”

      “Continued truth?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Then… I do not know.  I have never… there has never been a situation in my life where I have had any reason or opportunity to experience jealousy.   There is no one who has captivated me in this manner… grown in me such a profound attraction and… I am a man _highly_ capable of compartmentalizing and rationalizing situations, even those that are tremendously complex or distressing.  Much in me can provide a very successful shield from such a tawdry thing as jealousy, but given the uniqueness of this, of you, in my life… I cannot offer a firm prediction.  The variables do not fall handily into any formula that I might use to see the proper path, though that is one of my most powerful strengths.  I have no wish to dishonor you and I am highly aware of the importance to you of your work.  I have come even to see most clearly how the fantasy portrayal of your industry does not match the reality… I simply… I simply do not know…”

Mycroft’s slightly disjointed and halting speech sparked something in Greg that... strangely, it made him more confident about their future than something far more polished.

      “I’m actually happy to hear that, love.”

      “You… you are?”

      “Yes, I am.  I’ll admit I anticipated a quick ‘no, my dear, we shall have no problem, at all’ and… I’m not sure I would have trusted that.  I’m not stupid, Mycroft.  I know… I know when I got in your face about my ex that… maybe I made it seem that her having an issue with my work was an offensive suggestion and, in some ways, maybe I _do_ think that, but… like I said, I’m not stupid.  I dance to get other men hard, I have sex with other men on film… I _can_ understand how that would make someone jealous.  Make them worried, even if I tell them it’s not actually cheating because it’s just work.  The fact that you were truly honest with me and told me what was in your mind, what you were feeling… that you didn’t simply try to reassure me away from the conversation but trusted that I’d hear the conflict in your head and not walk out the door… that makes me insanely happy.”

Mycroft furrowed his brow as if he was still struggling with some confusion and Greg found it as adorable as everything else about the man in his arms.

      “We’re going to have fights, love.  Big ones, at times, I have no doubt.  And that’s alright.  It’s even alright if we fight about my work, as long as the fighting leads us forward to better understanding each other.  I enjoy my work and I’m not going to quit because I… because I’ve found you, no matter how much… no matter how happy I am right now.”

Twice!  Twice in that blather you nearly blurted out your probably-over-eggs love declaration!  Duh, look at me, I’m a big stupid prat who can’t keep one special word in his mouth.  This is going to keep rolling downhill unless… ha!

      “I have an idea, love.  How about I give you something to reinforce _how_ happy I am right now at finding someone as fantastic and wonderful as you?”

Before his lover could answer, Greg gave him a gentle spin, unfastened Mycroft’s towel, then dropped to his knees to start sucking Mycroft’s cock with as much passion as he could so he kept his mouth busy and incapable of speaking.  Yes, they had a LOT to talk about in the coming… days, weeks or whatever was the timeline for bringing the hotel business to a close… but, right now, a nice mouthful of his dear Mycroft and they could move on to more important things.  Like enjoying a pleasant, chatty, completely no-eggs-allowed breakfast…

__________

Oh joy…

      “You are both smiling.  This does not bode well for my digestion.”

      “Good morning, brother.  Sebastian.  Is John not joining us this morning?”

      “John’s meeting us later after Sherlock and I… do a few things.”

Neither Mycroft nor Lestrade was smiling now, as the look on the younger men’s faces certainly did not bode well for _their_ digestion.

      “Just how much trouble are you planning to get into, son?”

      “Define trouble.”

      “Oh no… Mycroft, got any chain to keep these two in the house and out of jail?”

      “I believe there are a few lengths to be found, but, if not, I shall have them delivered post haste.”

      “Funny, Dad’s boyfriend.  And we don’t answer to you, so our business is _our_ business.  Fuck off.”

Sherlock’s affirming nod only made Mycroft sigh and Greg shake his head in woe.  Yes, they had been foolish to hope these two meeting might become something positive.  It hadn’t.  Not at all.  This was the end of civilization and nothing could stop it now, though Mycroft did hold out a _small_ morsel of hope that the smoldering wreckage might be minimized to the _tiniest_ of degrees.

      “Will you, at barest minimum, reassure me that I shall not be called to mobilize any branch of the military and law enforcement agencies, anti-terrorist organizations or the clergy because of your supposed business?”

      “Ummm… no.”

Chaos.  All was chaos and the bringers were at his table.

      “Gregory… I require something calming.”

      “Lovely, sweet breakfast on the way!  I’ll look about for some chloroform or ether so you can have a little nap while I cook.”

      “You are too kind.  I do appreciate classic choices for my calm.”

      “You are insipid.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  My heart, as always, lightens at your kind words.  However, since you are unwilling to disclose your agenda for the day, do be aware that the lightening will not spare you whatever consequence you might experience due to your nefariousness.”

      “You assume that my so-called nefariousness would be noticed.”

      “I have but a single word for you – Baskerville.”

      “Pfft… if it had been necessary, John and I easily would have convinced the intellectual-bankrupts that wandered about of both the appropriateness and the necessity of our visit.  Your assistance was _not_ required.”

      “My assistance prevented your incarceration in a very unpleasant location for an even more unpleasant duration of time.”

      “Baskerville… that the military installation doing all the secret work that’s mostly fucking stupid, but they get money to burn anyway?”

Of course the assassin would have knowledge of that particular location.  It made no sense, which was why it was assured Sebastian would be an expert on the subject.

      “Need I ask, Sebastian, how you come by that confidential information?”

      “No, Dad’s boyfriend, you may not.”

      “Would you use Mycroft’s name, evil son of mine?”

      “Not this morning, I think.  Try me again later.”

Lestrade set Mycroft’s tea on the table, along with the first pieces of toast as a thank you for not beating his bastard son to half his original height.

      “See if I make my famous cottage pie for dinner tonight after your mouthy self this morning.  Ha!  Take that!”

Mycroft had to smother a small grin at Sebastian’s rather dramatic performance of a man catching an arrow in the heart and falling dead upon the table.  Of course, his impassioned sobbing somewhat spoiled the mortality.

      “Not that!  Anything… ANYTHING but that, Dad!”

      “Gone.  Right off the fucking menu.”

      “Mycroft… old and dear friend… order Dad to make his cottage pie.  Be a mate and I’ll… you seem like the type, so I’ll bring a bottle of really smashing port for after dinner.  Beautiful nose, exquisite color, body that will... we’ll it’s a grand sight better than Dad’s and you like that well enough.  What say?  Even bring some quality ale for drinking _during_ dinner. That sweeten the pot enough for you?”

Mycroft looked over to Greg who turned away from his cooking to give his lover a ‘sounds good’ nod before getting back to breakfast preparations.  Cooking… this was fan-fucking-tastic!  Cooking all the time!  With all the tools, equipment and supplies he could ever want and to feed more mouths than his, for a change of pace.  Plan, shop… at least, prepare the list for one of Mycroft’s underlings to do the shopping… prep, plate and serve… that was one thing he _wouldn’t_ like about going back to work.  No time for all of that!  Or reading for hours at a stretch.  And… well, they’d not talked about the topic of… living arrangements, but here was starting to feel rather… well, it was probably silly to say it felt like home but, since nobody could hear this but him, it felt rather _amazingly_ like home.  _So_ much to talk about in the coming days, weeks, whatever.. so much he should probably make a list… which would likely be _longer_ than the one for groceries and by a very large margin…

__________

      “Oh dear lord…”

      “Something wrong with your tea, love?”

      “Something is wrong with my brother.”

Greg looked over at Mycroft who was frowning at his mobile and hoped things weren’t as bad as they seemed to be.

      “More than usual?”

      “No, he is simply attempting to purchase a Ferrari on my bank card.”

      “That’ll be Seb.  Text the miserable fucker he can take a bus or cab like common folk.”

      “I am more concerned it indicates a desire on their part to go further afield than London.”

      “I wouldn’t put it past them.  Text him he can take the train like common folk, then.  But, I did mean to ask…”

      “For the time being, information relating to Sebastian Moran has been rendered somewhat invisible to agencies currently employing facial recognition and other identification techniques within the city, though it appears I might have to broaden the scope of the invisibility.”

      “That’s kind of you, love.  Hate to have his arrest and execution disturb our lovely day.”

      “Yes, those are positively dreadful affairs.  The peasants pelting the offender with various bits of rotten vegetable, offal and rocks takes a fortnight and today is far too warm to endure that in magisterial black.”

      “Black is a wonderful color for your skin, though.”

      “Such a rogue you are.  And so very correct, as well.”

__________

      “By Aristotle’s beard… have they taken leave of their senses?”

      “Need I ask who you’re talking about?”

      “Are there others who spring to mind when the subject of hiring a refrigerated lorry is raised?”

      “Actually, I can think of a few blokes who might need that.”

      “Is their current location the morgue?”

      “No, that narrows things down nicely.”

__________

      “Sorry to bother you, love, but I’m supposed to ask if it violates any international treaties to manufacture… here, Sherlock texted it in chemical language.”

      “Sarin gas.  And yes, it does.”

      “Polite of them to ask before they did their ingredient shopping, though.”

      “They must be growing fatigued.”

      “Toddlers do need their naps.”

      “Which they shall likely take in the most exclusive hotel in London.”

      “Can’t say I blame them for that.”

      “I shall text the number for _your_ bank card, then, shall I?”

      “Evil toddlers don’t deserve naps.”

      “I adore it when we are of like mind.”

__________

      “How delightful… I have been sent a photograph of, apparently, a tombstone with my name on it.”

      “Let’s see… photoshopped.  I wouldn’t worry those two actually bought you a headstone… they know you’ve got nowhere here to store it.”

      “That is somewhat a relief, as, instead of my year of birth and death, Sherlock has included my _weight_ at birth and death.”

      “Only ten pounds difference, too.  Nice of him to imply you kept your youthful figure.”

      “That is near the weight of a hippopotamus, Gregory.”

      “They have babies.  What’s your point?”

      “I truly have no idea anymore.”

__________

      “Mycroft… have you seen the news?”

      “What have they done.”

      “Had a hundred pizzas delivered to MI6, with a card that says ‘a gift from all the clever fuckers your lot is too stupid to catch.’  Charged to MI6’s catering account, too.  It’s getting a lot of media coverage, so if you get copies, I’d like to keep them as a keepsake.”

      “Of course.  High definition?”

      “Yeah, best they got.”

      “Consider it done.”

__________

      “NEVER AGAIN!”

Greg grinned and gently caressed the cheek of the man currently enjoying a mandated half-hour rest.  Lying on the sofa with his head in Greg’s lap was also mandated, but that part had been the far easier part of the negotiation.

      “I think John’s here, love.”

      “I… I am never, NOT EVER, being within a hundred miles of those… _children_ again in my life!”

      “He seems a tad miffed about something, too.”

      “Oh… and look at the both of you.  Enjoying a quiet afternoon while London burns!”

      “Something about burning.  Didn’t notice the sun being especially bright today, but maybe your radiance outshined it.”

John made a noise usually associated with Sherlock having a tantrum and Mycroft graciously applauded his performance.

      “Gregory and I have been well-apprised of the, shall we call them, hi-jinks of Sebastian and Sherlock and I must admit to some degree of admiration for the diversity of chaotic escapades they have concocted in a single day.  _Part_ of day, really, for we certainly have not seen the end to this one yet.”

      “One… I can scarcely manage _one_ rampaging toddler on my own and now there are two of them!  It doesn’t matter how insane or illegal the idea is, once it pops into one of their stupid heads, the other thinks it’s brilliant!”

      “Did you murder them, John.  Is that why they’re not here, too?”

      “No, Greg, but don’t think that thought didn’t live in my mind like a squatter for the past hour.  I finally said to hell with it all and left them to steal a tank or visit the Queen or whatever the fuck they want to do.”

John dropped heavily into a beckoning chair and pointedly ignored the vain attempts by the other two not to laugh at him.

      “Dear me, I do hope Her Majesty is not in the bath when that occurs.”

      “Funny.  Really, Mycroft, you should be on stage.  At least, Sherlock wants to do an experiment in the flat tomorrow and so I’ll only have to mind one child on the streets of London, which will be a blessed, blessed relief.”

Mycroft glanced at Greg and saw exactly what he expected to see… a beaming smile and a look in his lover’s eyes that perfectly expressed the concept of a dream come true.

      “You and Seb got something on for the day?”

      “Your son is the best-regarded sniper in the world, which I know because he is as happy to inform me about his unparalleled and prize-worthy amazingness as is Sherlock, so I’m taking his best-regarded arse to a shooting range.  Maybe that will work off some of his energy or, failing that, he can show me a few things to improve my own technique.  Always good to build your skills.”

There was no mistaking the excited wriggle under his head and Mycroft let his hand drop so it could rub his partner’s leg.  He knew exactly, with _perfect_ clarity what was going through his Gregory’s mind, because it had gone through his when Sherlock met John and began to broaden, albeit slightly, his minute social circle.

      “He’ll love that, John.  And, thank you for it.  I adore it when Seb visits me here in London, but I don’t fool myself that he doesn’t really know anyone and… so, thanks.  It’s great that you and Sherlock are getting him out to have a little fun.”

      “Just be ready to bail us when it becomes necessary.  Notice I didn’t say if.”

      “As long as it’s not Mycroft’s naptime, then I’m right on it.”

      “Lovely.  So… I hear cottage pie is on the menu.”

      “It is!  My mum’s specialty which, if do say so myself, I’ve improved on over the years.  Staying to enjoy it?”

      “It is very least you owe me for childminding your bratty little son today.”

      “Great!  There’s plenty and we’d love to have you.  Speaking of that… Mycroft, your half-hour is over.  Want to rest more or is it back to work for you?”

Mycroft smiled at the concern in Greg’s voice and remembered the last time he had suffered a rather debilitating injury.  How different it was when healing under the watchful eye of someone who cared…

      “Back to work, I’m afraid.  I have been away from my laptop for sufficiently long a time that John’s omen of London in flames could easily be true.”

Carefully helping Mycroft right himself on the sofa, Greg then gave his lover a kiss before Mycroft continued rising and made his way to his study.

      “Alright, John… ready to cook?”

      “What?”

      “Goes faster with two hands doing the work and that’ll leave us time to enjoy a lager or two while we wait for the rest of the Addams Family to return from whatever they’re doing to terrorize the citizens.”

      “How about a lager or _three_?”

      “You’re a man after my own heart.”

__________

      “There’s my angel!  Oh, wait, it’s you, son.”

      “Funny, loving guardian.  I mean, Dad.”

Greg grinned at John, who was precisely lagered enough to grin in return and admire the fact that his partner was not wearing the same trousers as when he was last seen and Sebastian was sporting quite a mass of something… dank… in his hair.

      “What… do I even want to ask, Sherlock, what you two did between now and when I fled in horror from your B-movie villainy?”

      “Funny, John.  I mean, John.  Wait… that did not sound as amusing as I intended.”

John snorted at how perfectly _Sherlock_ was his dear Sherlock.

      “You get credit for trying.  Shall I suggest you use one of Mycroft’s showers to cleanse your soul, as well as your skin, and see if he has any clothes to fit.  I can smell yours from here and, here’s a hint… somewhere a coffin is wondering if its occupant has wandered off.”

      “That is also not funny, so I assume that indicates we are well-matched.”

      “You assume correctly.  Shower?”

      “You, too, son.  I don’t want that stench infecting my dinner.”

      “You made pie, Dad, right?”

      “You brought ale, Seb, right?  And port?”

      “Our last stop for the day.”

      “Then, yes, I made pie.  Go.”

Sherlock and Sebastian huffed a put-upon sigh and whirled out of the kitchen, making a perfectly matched set of troublemakers, one of whom lagged behind a moment when he saw Mycroft exiting his study.

      “Good heavens, Sebastian… no, please do not come closer.  I am somewhat worried your smell is indelible and have no desire to be painted with its unwholesome ink.”

      “You and Dad… if you think I’m going to be some bowtie-wearing ring boy at your wedding, you can think again.  Anyway…”

The turn in Sebastian’s expression from his adolescent animation to professional seriousness alerted Mycroft that odor might be the least of his concerns.

      “Do you have something to report?”

      “Yeah, actually.  Sherlock and I talked to a few people today and that business with MI6… made it easier for a bloke I know in the building to step out for a quick chat to confirm a few things.  I’ve got a couple of leads to check, but I’ll lay out what I know in case you have other resources for a bit of your own digging.”

      “Very well, let me…”

      “Tomorrow’s fine.  Nothing will change if we start tomorrow and Dad… it’s a good night for Dad.  Everyone here and he’s got a special dinner going.  Maybe… maybe I’ve got a little surprise for him, too, for later, so… tomorrow, alright?”

Mycroft knew that, given the issue was his father’s safety, if it was not absolutely permissible to forestall action on the information, the assassin would _not_ make the suggestion to wait.  And Gregory was looking so forward their evening…

      “Very well.  Do make yourself well-acquainted with my shower and we shall see you shortly.  Is Sherlock in a similar state?”

      “We bought some new trousers for him, so… not quite.”

      “I am surprised a shop allowed you within their doors.”

      “Well, when I say bought…”

Mycroft pointed towards the stairs and shook his head as Sebastian ran up them two at a time with a grace that would have felled a less agile man.  With that section of the family sorted it was a walk to find the next section, who had abandoned their beer bottles and begun the process of finishing the dinner preparations.  How fortuitous that they had matters fully in hand and did not require his assistance.

      “I see you, Mycroft Holmes.”

      “Unless you have grown eyes in the back of your head, Gregory Lestrange, you most certainly do not.”

      “It’s a Dad sense.  Little bugger…or a big bugger… up to no good behind you… sets the Dad sense tingling.”

Mycroft quickly set Greg’s bottle of lager back on the table and cleared his throat in a convincingly disbelieving fashion.

      “I believe you overstate things a tad.”

      “Did you put down my beer?”

DAMN THE DAD SENSE!

      “It is obvious you are already inebriated and subject to the fabrication of stories.  I was simply moving the bottle so it would not meet an untimely fate should it be glanced by my hand.”

      “That was especially poshly spoken… just as good as a confession.”

Conceding defeat, Mycroft strode forward and gave his lover a kiss on the back of his neck as spoils of war.

      “Better.  Want to start setting the table, love?  Dining room, tonight, if you please.  We’ve got lots of arses to put in chairs and a bit of room to move is always appreciated with a good hearty meal.”

Mycroft chuckled softly at Greg’s enthusiasm and gave him a second kiss before starting for the dining room and making his contribution to the night.  Fortunately, their table _was_ a sizeable one, so there was more than sufficient room for everyone, meaning Sherlock and Sebastian, to be properly separated and spaced so the meal might be a peaceful one.  A forkful of cottage pie would not make a fashionable addition to his lovely cashmere jumper and both Sherlock’s and Sebastian’s aim was impeccable…

__________

      “That wasn’t toxic, Dad.  Nicely done.”

Given that was said while his son was nearly groaning from the size of his stomach, it was a compliment Greg highly appreciated.

      “Thank you, Sebastian.  I am always happy when my food fails to kill.”

      “I’ve got to hand it to you, Greg… that was certainly worth the effort.”

      “It is a bit of work, that’s for certain, but I’ll give you the recipe, John, if you think you can conscript an extra pair of hands for a night of your own cooking.”

      “Mrs. Hudson will happily accompany John in the kitchen.”

      “Which means, Sherlock, lazy thing that you are, you’d like another go at my delicious pie?”

      “John will make a far superior version, I have no doubt.”

      “Of course.  No question.  Anything made with loooooooovve is always better.”

      “Are you attempting to make me ill, Lestrange?”

      “No, but just in case, drink more port and you won’t care if I do.  So, anyone want a film or…”

      “Actually, Dad, I had another idea for tonight.”

      “I have already lodged my protest, but, apparently, this is not a democracy.  Given this is Fatcroft’s residence, I really can muster no surprise, as his monarchical aspirations have obviously spread to his personal assassination team.”

Seb made a gesture that Sherlock waved off with a familiarity that indicated they’d practiced their routine multiple times that day, then hopped up from his chair to dart out of the sitting room and, after a moment, make a show of peeking around the corner to make certain everyone was watching.

      “Well, son?”

Stepping out from his hiding place, Sebastian grinned and held up his prize, which made Greg gasp loudly in surprise.

      “My guitar!”

      “Thought you might be missing that, too, in addition to the robe-of-Satan.  Seemed like a good opportunity for a little after-dinner music.”

And, as well, because it had been ages since he heard his father play.  So many memories of lying in bed listening to his Dad strum and hum when neither of them could easily sleep…

      ‘I… oh, I don’t know… I haven’t practiced in awhile…”

      “Gregory, my dear… I have full confidence you shall entertain us with a truly moving performance.  Please, I would very much like hearing it.”

Seeing the honestly happy look on Mycroft’s face, Greg took a deep breath and nodded, taking the guitar from Sebastian who hopped back into his chair and, after the obligatory bit of tuning, settled back to listen to his father play a tune he remembered fondly.  For his part, Mycroft leaned back in his chair, sipped his port and marveled at how his lover relaxed into the music and seemed to forget that others were even present as he played a gentle, soothing tune that perfectly matched the mood in the room.  His Gregory… his dearest, dearest Gregory… no Sebastian, you will not be a bowtie-wearing ring boy.  A man your age requires a proper tie and, when the day arrives, I will choose it myself, lest it be festooned with characters from a television cartoon…


	30. Chapter 30

      “This is most interesting.”

Mycroft looked through the information Sebastian had collected for him, on various napkins, food wrappers and crumpled pieces of notepaper, and had to admit to a bit of pride in what Sebastian and Sherlock had accomplished.  Some intriguing names had surfaced and a few clear attempts to divert attention away from certain areas, all of which his own operatives had failed to gather.  Most likely because there was truth in the fact that the individual asking the question had a great deal of influence on the quality of the answer, as well as, certain individuals simply had better reference for knowing _who_ to question in the first place.

      “Think you can do something with it?  I can go further afield and trace things, but… my game is a fairly small one at my level and the word _will_ get out that I’m looking into that hit.  I don’t have a reason to do that so…”

      “It would raise questions.”

      “That I won’t be able to answer.  And, I can’t be certain it won’t trace back to Dad.”

      “No, on that point you are correct.  However, you have provided sufficient groundwork for this be investigated more closely and I will see it dealt with immediately.  Are you still confident Koskinen was the shooter at the cemetery?”

      “I never was entirely confident, but he’s the most likely choice.  The biggest argument against him is that he missed, but his record isn’t perfect, so…”

      “The likelihood he would speak about the issue if pressed?  Or paid?”

      “By a government spook?  Depends on how hard you press or how much you pay.  Client pays a lot for my services, but he doesn’t pay enough for me to refuse a good deal for information if that deal keeps _me_ out of prison or sinks someone I think _should_ be sunk because they’re a worthless bastard.  Free agents have to look after themselves.”

      “Very well.  I will assess the efficacy of that route and implement as appropriate.”

      “Why don’t you talk like a normal person?”

      “Get, as they say, a real job.”

Ok, Dad’s boyfriend was scoring points, which definitely boded very well for future visits.  Which would be _here_ because there was no mistaking the ease his father felt knocking about this enormous, posh house.  Dad was making this a home and it would be like digging a bullet out of rock to get him to be anywhere else because he was a stubborn, stubborn man.  But, this was nicer than Dad’s flat and Mycroft here certainly had enough cash to keep his stubborn, stubborn father living comfortably no matter what happened in the future, so… it was good.  Plus, it was nice to know _he_ had a secure place now to store a few things.  Or heal up.  Take a holiday.  Experiment with corpses.

      “No.”

      “Obstinate.  However, given your unwavering grip on your criminal lifestyle, I would have you look through these and provide what insights you can.  There are the various names we have amassed, on our part, as potential contributors to Drake’s death.  Their role or if they are truly involved at all does remain uncertain.”

Sebastian ran his eye over the list and back again for good measure.

      “A few I recognize, but…”

      “Which?”

      “Prescott, Weaver, Moriarty, deFarge, maybe Rutledge, but part of me thinks I’m remembering another bloke instead.”

      “Connections?”

      “Prescott and Weaver both have smaller operations and have hoped for something bigger.  Moriarty is… likes his fingers in things.  Fancies himself a fix-it man.  deFarge is about money and Drake’s dealings make a lot of it.  The Rutledge I’m thinking of liked to play at supplying small uprisings so they created a demand for the ‘security’ personnel he steps in and offers for a hefty price.  The rest… not on my radar.  Want me to ask around?”

      “No… again, the lower a profile you maintain, the greater the security for Gregory.  I shall investigate these selected names for anything definitive and, if necessary, ask for further of your assistance; thank you Sebastian, you have been most helpful.”

      “I’d focus on Weaver and Prescott.  I know for a fact they’ve both had deals in place that Drake stepped in and grabbed for himself.  They didn’t like that much.”

      “Very well, that shall serve as a starting point.  Now, am I correct that you are spending the day with John murdering targets?”

      “Can’t bring any truly interesting weapons, but yeah.”

      “Practice makes perfect.”

      “Practice _keeps_ you perfect.”

      “I stand corrected.  I thought I would inform you that, barring unexpected issues, I should be returning to my office beginning, if not tomorrow, then the following day.  There is much I can do from home, but it is far more efficient for me to occupy my office and I am overdue, I feel, to return to it.”

      “Dad’ll be here alone?”

      “Something he has already weathered successfully during his early days in residence.  I simply make mention of the fact so that you are not surprised by my absence and, perhaps, recognize that a small amount of ‘checking in’ might be advised, if only to reassure both you and your father that all is well for you both.”

      “Yeah… I’ll do that.  I’ll leave something here, too, for him to protect himself if he needs it.”

      “Might that be one of the weapons you liberated from my sitting room?”

      “No.  Mine now.”

      “Joyful.  Thank you, Sebastian.  Feel very free to make yourself absent from my presence.”

      “Ok, if you pay me.”

      “Pardon?”

      “I’m going to be gone all day.  I need cash.”

      “You are a grown man with accounts of your own.”

      “Fifty quid should do it.”

      “Fifty pounds should settle you for a fortnight.  Regardless, no.”

      “I’ve got to eat!”

      “Your father will happily pack a lunch for you.  One for John, as well, if you are feeling particularly collegial.”

      “I need cab fare.”

      “There may be a few coins under the sofa cushions.  You are welcome to whatever you find.”

      “Twenty.  I’ll settle for twenty, but I won’t like it.”

      “Now, dear me, what is your favorite quote?  Ah yes… No.”

      “Fine!  I’ll ask Dad and he’ll give it to me.  Poor Dad, hard-working man closing in on retirement with scarcely enough in the bank to heat his flat, let alone set aside a bit for a new pair of shoes.  Has to live with scuffed, holey shoes, but he’ll give his son fifty quid because he’s loving and doting, even if it means he doesn’t have anything to eat but noodles for a month and…”

      “Oh good heavens, here…”

Mycroft pulled a few banknotes from his wallet and handed them to Sebastian who darted off as if he was a child racing for a sweet shop.  At least his Gregory would not have to suffer refusing his son the money Sebastian most certainly did not need or endanger himself by spiriting away to a bank to lay in a cash supply.  Dear Gregory, so very devoted to his son, but so very indulgent, as well.  A touch firmer a hand would likely do Sebastian the proverbial world of good, but it was certainly not his place to say.  Now, to tend to the assassin’s list of names and make a quick phone order for the blowfish livers Sherlock was demanding for some experiment or other.  At least it was a more understandable request than last month’s petition for hair from all existing variations of the terrier breeds.  Fortunately, dog groomers were an amenable lot for Sherlock did become most aggrieving when he was waiting for his wants…

__________

      “Love?”

Mycroft looked up from his papers and felt a much-welcome warmth thread through his bones, seeing the familiar brown eyes peeking around the door of his study.

      “Yes, Gregory?”

      “Just wanted to know if you’re alright.  It’s been a few hours and you haven’t peeked out once, not even for tea.  Or a pee.  The last bit has me especially worried since your rug is a truly lovely one.”

      “The lack of the former has precluded the need for the latter, I suspect.  However, now that I am reminded about my tea, I shall make a most forceful mental note to properly dispose of its aftermath when the time arrives.”

      “Thanks, love.  Hate to have to bring out your old friend, Mr. Piss Bottle, to stand at the ready.”

      “Do feel free to banish the blackguard to the rubbish bin.”

      “I’m saving it for emergencies.  In any case, I’ll leave this here and knock in a half-hour or so, in case your mental note goes on walkabout.”

Greg further pushed open the door with his foot and walked in carrying a tray with tea and what appeared to be two kinds of sandwich, cut into dainty triangles, along with fruit and a small vase of flowers.  Sitting here surrounded by papers would be made much nicer for his Mycroft with a little color to look at now and again…

      “Bit of a light lunch to keep up your strength.  Papers fight dirty when they don’t want to be picked up or put in a folder, so I suspect your reserves are running low.”

His Gregory was a divine man.  Truly sent by the heavens, likely to compensate for his own rather dreary influence on the household.

      “They are formidable foes, that is true.  Thank you for this, Gregory.  I often lose track of time and the things that should accompany those lost hours, such as food and drink.”

      “Something I’m highly familiar with, so I’ll be on top of things for you.  What’re you working on?  Anything you can talk about?”

      “A few minor issues in eastern Europe that should settle the minds of certain quickly-startled dignitaries.  Also, I have a rather bracing videoconference with selected IMF officials.  It is ever an experience that brings sunshine to my day.”

      “I’ll bring a potted plant next time instead of cut flowers to take advantage of all that light.”

      “Very prudent.  Oh, and while you are here, if you would cast an eye over this list for any names that strike a chord?”

Taking the paper from Mycroft’s fingers, Greg looked it over and tried his very best to remember if even one name was familiar, because this was surely related to his own troubles.  Unfortunately, this was not his day for luck. 

      “Wish I could recognize any, but… nothing.  Why are some underlined?”

      “Those are the names that were familiar to Sebastian.”

      “Smart… Seb does keep his ear to the ground, he has to in his business.  Well, underlined or not, I can’t say I’ve heard of any of these chaps.  That does remind me, though, that I have to phone Kevin’s sons and see how they’re getting along.  Bring an end to the hotel business, will you, so I can actually take the lads for a pint or two and have a real talk with them?”

      “I will do my utmost, my dear, I promise you.  Sherlock and Sebastian provided some additional avenues of investigation, so, perhaps, they shall bear fruit.”

      “Really?  Oh, and here I was thinking they were arsing about all day.”

      “Apparently not.  I am somewhat concerned that Sebastian has a contact within MI6, however…”

      “He’s got several, actually.”

Of course he does.

      “Lovely.”

      “You know those spy types aren’t that far off lads like my Sebastian in terms of doing what it takes to get the job done.  Means making deals or forming alliances with all sorts when you need to.”

You are an incomparable entertainer, my Gregory, but being versed in the practicalities of intelligence work is simply an overabundance of strengths for a single man to possess.

      “I will concede the point.”

      “Good, because that means you won’t have a problem throwing a little work my Seb’s way now and again.”

      “Pardon?”

      “He’s good for more than assassination, you know.  Clever lad like him could do all sorts of things for the right price.”

      “You are hoping I shall contract Sebastian for government work?”

      “Well, not for the formal, in-the-media, sorts of things, but the shady, sneaky stuff?  Sure!  I mean, why would you turn away from a valuable asset you can actually trust?  How often does that opportunity come along?”

That your argument is an excellent one shall go completely unremarked.

      “Look at you trying to not to tell me I’m spot on with that.  Ha!  I love how transparent you are when you’re trying to keep something from me.”

A genealogical analysis would begin immediately for Mr. Gilbert Phineas Gresham Moran to identify the particular witch whose DNA lingers in his genome.

      “I was simply pondering the mechanics of your proposal.  I would counter, however, with the assertion that Sebastian likely enjoys his free-agent situation and would rebel at a yoke being thrown across his neck.”

      “There’s truth in that, but he’s not stupid, either.  Man with connections, yoke or not, is a man who has resources when he needs them and, if the pay is good, it’s foolish to let your pride get in the way of having someone’s voice in your ear.  Besides…”

Greg’s eyes darkened slightly and his shoulders sagged enough to set Mycroft rising from his chair and moving to the study’s small sofa, patting the seat next to him to encourage his lover to sit, which Greg did after a moment’s hesitation.

      “You worry for him, Gregory.”

      “I do.  Seb’s an adult and I know that.  He’s smart and clever and ruthless and extremely talented with what he does, but… sometimes that’s not enough, you know?  You can probably fathom out where I learned to take care of someone who’s been shot.  I can’t even describe the feeling of seeing my son crash through my door and he’s got blood streaming through his fingers from trying to keep some of that blood inside his body!  Or the times… he’s not careless, he knows about things like time differences, so when my phone rings at three in the fucking morning and he ‘just wants to chat,’ I know it’s shite.  Something upset him enough to need someone to listen, even if we don’t talk about what’s bothering him to begin with.  He needs to know there’s someone there to hear his voice, someone there who cares.  Seb loves his work and is brilliant at it but, yeah, I worry.  You worry about Sherlock, too, so I know you understand.”

      “True.  I worry about him constantly, that is an immutable fact of my life.  I have attempted numerous times and in numerous ways to channel his talents and energies towards a more directed path, however…”

      “He rebels.”

      “Precisely.  Fortunately, I can occasionally enlist his services by using Doctor Watson as my intermediary, for he, unlike Sherlock, does recognize the clear connection between work and little things such as rent and food.”

      “And you keep an eye on him, too, don’t you?”

      “Without doubt.  It has proven extremely beneficial to us both throughout the years, though Sherlock would sever his tongue with garden shears before admitting it.”

      “Seb would do the same.  Not that I _can_ do anything like that, of course.  I’m no good to him for anything but a father’s love and that only goes so far.”

      “How far that goes, Gregory, cannot be measured, do not marginalize what you mean to your son for your worth to him is far greater than the crudely tangible or material.  However, you hope that I have a greater reach for certain matters.”

      “You do and you know it.  But, I’m not asking for you to treat him like Sherlock or try to bring him into… less illegal… work.  But, if you had a job now and then you might throw his way or, say, there was a contact number to use if he was truly in trouble that he couldn’t get out of himself...  I wouldn’t ask much from you, love, I wouldn’t impose like that because it’s not right, but I do know someone in your position collects assets like stamps and Seb would be a good one for you.”

      “A win-win situation, is that it?”

      “Why not?  He told me he’s fucked over a few of your plans before and maybe… maybe he could give you a quick head’s up to find out if a new contract he’s taken will interfere with something you’re staging.  And you know he’s good, the best, actually, so when you need something done fast and well and very under-the-table… he’d be a good choice, don’t you think?”

Dear Gregory had his own clever streak and was not afraid to use it.  Such a delightfully-formidable man.  And, the concept _did_ have merit…

      “Shall I broach the idea with Sebastian myself?”

One day, my dear, I will be blinded by the light of your smile, but that is not a day I shall rue in the slightest.

      “Thank you, love.  Thank you so, so very much.  I’ll do it, though.  Make it sound like you’ve been thinking how valuable he could be and how you prefer to work with the best whenever possible, that sort of thing.  I know how to sell this, so leave it to me.”

      “As you deem prudent.  Now, are you joining me for lunch?”

      “Your tea!  Oh, I’m sorry, Mycroft.  One fresh cup on the way!  And, I suppose I could linger a bit while you restore your stamina.”

      “Should I suppose, then, my stamina’s restoration is somewhat important to you?”

Notice my facial expressions, my dear, which are attempting to be flirtatious, though it is not exactly my strength.  Oh good, you are smiling your particularly sordid smile…

      “It’s always important to me and I’ll show you why once we close the book on today, alright?”

      “Most alright, I would say.  Perhaps while we enjoy an invigorating shower?”

      “I say that sounds _highly_ likely.  Let me get your tea and we can discuss that in more depth.”

With a truly lascivious twinkle in his eye, Greg winked at his lover and swaggered out of the study, knowing full well that Mycroft’s eyes were firmly set on his very admirable arse.  How nice was it that Mycroft’s shower was enormous and could easily accommodate all sorts of fun and games?  Something a bit aggressive tonight, perhaps.  Touch of snarling and growling and gentle manhandling so his Mycroft had an especially lovely time… yeah, that sounded like an excellent plan for the evening.  And the shower made the whole business self-cleaning, which was a nod to efficiency his lover would certainly appreciate…

__________

      “You’ve been talking to Dad.”

No, the door does not require its hinges, so thank you for your efforts in nearly separating them, Mr. Moran.

      “Sebastian… finished with your murders for the day?  How many of your victims remain alive?”

      “John and I did our bit to rid the world of targets, but they reproduce like rabbits so there’ll be more to kill tomorrow.”

      “Oh, another day at the range?”

      “Maybe.  Talked to the owner about his views on less-than-sanctioned weaponry and he’s not averse to looking the other way if he gets the chance to have a go with whatever a body might bring in with them.  John’s got doctory things to do in the morning, but the afternoon might work and he’s going to try and get Sherlock to come.  He’s wanted to do a bit of data collection or something on gunshot wounds and a few roasts or legs of lamb might ride along with us for sacrifice.  Now, back to Dad…”

      “Yes?”

      “I’m not working for you.”

      “Excellent, for I had no intention of alerting Human Resources to prepare your file.”

      “Funny.  You know what I mean.”

      “I know only that I mentioned how useful someone with your talents could be for various projects and your father agreed.”

Or, at least, that is the cover story to which I agreed, but that is neither here nor there.

      “You hope I’ll turn over and work for you and not against you.”

      “I believe we had established, at least to a nebulous degree, that you do not precisely work against me.  Has your assessment changed since that conversation?”

      “I… no… not necessarily.  But I have no intention of being a government drone.”

      “I truly cannot imagine such a thing as the first Health and Safety meeting drones are required to attend would surely end in bloodshed, which is rather against the spirit of Health and Safety and would certainly prompt a flurry of memos attesting to the fact.”

      “Look… you have legitimate work for me.. I’ll consider it.  As a favor to Dad.  Drag your arse out of the fire so he doesn’t have to live with you being testy because your lot made fools of themselves yet again and bungled something shamefully.  But don’t think for a moment I’m at your beck and call or that I’ll walk away from a good job because you’re come over all moral.”

      “Yes, it is truly burdensome when the skies open and I am deluged by a flood of morality.”

      “Pfft.  You know what I mean.  I choose my work based on my own principles and nobody else’s.”

      “A man _should_ live by his own code, however, I do reserve the right to comment if your work impinges upon an area currently of interest to me.”

      “Comment all you like, words are free.”

      “But not cooperation.”

      “Fuck no.”

      “Then we understand each other.”

      “What?  Wait a minute…”

      “Whatever for?  I believe we have covered the salient points of our agreement.  I shall not intrude upon your work unless it directly impacts a current or future initiative of mine, whenceforth we shall discuss the issue and, if required, negotiate a fee for your refusing a job or modifying it to better accommodate my needs.”

      “I didn’t agree to that!”

      “Of course you did, Sebastian, do keep up.  And, I will offer assurances that any particular work I deem suitable for you shall be challenging, interesting and profitable.”

      “You are not allowed to talk to Dad ever again!  In your life!”

      “That is not part of our agreement and my verbal pen has emptied itself of ink so no further codicils can be appended, I’m afraid.  Now, since you are here, perhaps you would care to hear the current status of the information you provided me.”

Setting me on fire with your scowl will not work, silly boy.  Sherlock has tried for years and not generated so much as a smolder.

      “We’re not done with this.  But… yeah, what have you found out.”

      “It does appear that Drake’s brother has been making certain overtures to various of Marcus’s rivals, though none seem to have viewed those positively.  However, the account numbers you found were traced, unsurprisingly, to institutions in a country most friendly in terms of banking anonymity, but one well-provided with security cameras.  There is little doubt that he has been transferring funds both to and from these accounts for some time and has personally made substantial withdrawals for reasons not yet determined.”

      “So, he’s the one behind all of this.”

      “Perhaps.  Though, from what I have gathered, he has not the fortitude nor, frankly, intelligence to orchestrate his brother’s assassination, which leads me to this.”

Mycroft pushed a folder across his desk for Seb to snatch up and begin reading.

      “Nope.”

      “The information is incomplete, I admit, however there certainly is enough to warrant turning attention towards Mr. Moriarty, if not for this specific incident, then for others that are coming to light.  He has been a rather busy bee, apparently.  A ‘fix-it man,’ I believe you termed him?  He seems to specialize in rather substantial problems and appears most skilled at their resolution.  Regardless, I have devoted certain measures towards surveillance and…”

      “Wrong tree.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Barking up the wrong tree.  He’s not your man.”

      “Given you did not champion that particular opinion with any degree of force earlier on, I must wonder why you are doing so now.”

      “He’s… this isn’t his sort of thing.  Quick, messy… it didn’t take someone of his caliber to arrange this.  Don’t waste your time when you could be using it to actually find some _real_ leads to pursue.”

      “Mr. Moriarty is very careful about revealing himself, however, he is not as successful at circumventing facial recognition measures as he likely believes.  It is somewhat indicting that he has arrived in certain countries only hours after the arrival of Drake’s brother only to depart again a scant few hours later.”

      “Ever heard of coincidence?  Like I said, fingers in things.  Little bastard is always going here and there for some meeting or to pick up payments or make arrangements for one of his schemes.  Derek Drake likely hired cheap local thugs for the hotel hit.”

      “Too coordinated, I feel, and that does _not_ explain the sniper in the cemetery.  I doubt our living Mr. Drake could easily find someone as lofty as Luukas Koskinen as he was not terribly embedded in the arms trade as was his brother.”

      “Then keep looking.  I’m not saying he didn’t have someone do his dirty work, but I am saying it’s not that Moriarty bloke.  He wouldn’t get out of bed for someone like either of the Drake brothers.  You work on that while I go help Dad do something about those fucking Euphorbias of yours.  Does anybody tend them or do you hope the pigeons will fly in with little tools and make your garden grow?”

Weathering the powerful sting of Sebastian’s rebuke, Mycroft watched the assassin make a rude gesture and storm out of the study, then reached for a pen to make a few notes before sending a few texts and sitting back to conduct a small amount of research on his own.  The lady doth protest too much, methinks… or gentlemen in this case.  And it certainly would pay to know the reason why…


	31. Chapter 31

The calming sound of a lone guitar filtering through his study door brought a gentle smile to Mycroft’s lips and he found himself humming along for the next hour while he tidied the remaining pieces of his agenda and, finally, drew his working day to a close.  Tomorrow, he would be away from home, in his office, and certainly not gifted with the luxury of flowers with his luncheon tray or a serenade of music to accompany his work, but needs must at times… besides, with the information he had today collected on his Gregory’s situation, having more immediate access to personnel and other resources would be very useful in bringing this disgraceful matter to a close.

      “You play marvelously, my dear.”

Greg leaned his head fully back and grinned at the tall, lean figure standing behind the sofa.

      “Mycroft!  I’m sorry, love, if I disturbed you.”

      “Not at all.  I actually found the music most conducive to thought and analysis.  Perhaps I should have you prepare a recording that I may play when I find my mind in the grip of intellectual and creative stagnation.”

      “You’d make your colleagues’ ears bleed, but I think I can make that happen.”

Your delighted smile, my Gregory… my own delight is in seeing you comfortable and content in this home that is quickly becoming ours, rather than mine.

      “Excellent.  I would ask, though, if you have… it is a silly thing, but I know little about the needs of a guitarist.  Do you have your essentials?  Do notify me if you require… strings or whatnot.”

      “I’m set for now, I think, but I _will_ let you know if that changes.”

Moving to a more comfortable location for his lover to view, Mycroft took a seat and indulged a moment in the serenity of the scene in which he was now a part.

      “Good, for I would hate to see my evenings descend again into the silent creatures I have endured until now.”

      “Flatterer.  I’ll admit, though… this is nice.  I usually have little time to play and it’s nice to simply be able to try new melodies or just let the notes meander wherever they will.”

The wistfulness made Mycroft shamefully hopeful that the call of retirement was sounding louder and louder in his lover’s ear.  It was utterly disgraceful to wish his Gregory lay aside his career, especially since he had been an avid consumer of that career for nearly its entirety, but… well, that was a contemplation for another time.

      “And I am sufficiently fortunate to bear witness to such meanderings.  Please, do not stop on my account.”

      “Nah, it’s alright.  I was about to set Vera aside anyway.”

      “Vera?”

Greg smiled and hoisted his guitar back into position, this time adding his voice to the music, which pleased Mycroft mightily while he listened to the short tune his partner sang.

      “Ah, hence the name.”

      “ _Vera_ , by Pink Floyd.  Gotta love _The Wall_.”

      “Do I?”

      “Don’t tell me… you’ve never listened to _The Wall_?”

      “I am entirely unfamiliar with Mr. Floyd or his compositions.”

      “I… you… oh, you’re lying, you bastard.  Lies are written all over you.”

      “Are they?  I do hope they are not staining my shirt.”

      “Confess.”

      “I find Brussels sprouts an affront to nature.”

      “Bring forth the truth, Mycroft.”

      “I do not dissemble!  A mere one on my dinner plate reduces me to tears.”

      “Smoked a little weed listening to _The_ _Dark Side of the Moon_ , am I right?”

      “Certainly not.  How utterly adolescent.”

      “Exactly!  That’s tomorrow night’s entertainment sorted, then.  Order up some of the good military-grade weed for us, too, if you’d be so kind.  Oh!  And we’ll need a copy of _The Wizard of Oz_.”

      “Gregory Lestrange…”

      “It’s alright, love, I won’t tell the kids.  They can buy their own fucking weed, cheap little bastards.”

Mycroft’s rolled eyes made Greg laugh, but Mycroft’s ‘oh Gregory’ smile made him laugh even harder.

      “You are a rapscallion, my dear.”

      “That I am.  One with a guitar and an especially eye-pleasing arse.”

      “How true.  Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall…”

      “Place a weed order?”

      “Have a shower.”

      “Drat.  Oh well, I suppose I can use the non-weed-ordering time to start dinner.”

      “Gregory, you prepared a hearty breakfast, an even heartier lunch to fuel your son’s afternoon of carnage… I am certain there is sufficient food in the house to simply craft a plate of sandwiches.  Do you know if we shall be joined by the remainder of the household this evening?”

      “I think the plan is to do takeaway at Sherlock’s and John’s flat, actually.  That Mrs. Hudson… she good at managing a house filled with lads who have poor impulse control and wildly creative minds?”

      “Mrs. Hudson has an _uncanny_ ability to manage Sherlock’s nonsense and I suspect that ability shall transfer well to Sebastian.”

      “Good.  I think those two are… what’s the word… synergistic?”

      “A very appropriate term for their interaction.  I wonder, though, if it might be a good night to emulate their example.”

      “Go out and terrorize London?  I’m up for it and I do _not_ mind getting naked in public.”

      “That shall not be necessary for I was thinking of phoning for our dinner tonight.”

      “Oh… that’ll work, too.  Pizza?  No, we’ll save that for tomorrow.  Pizza and weed… match made in heaven.  How about Thai?”

      “A most delicious suggestion.  Shall you order while I shower?”

      “Absolutely.  Feast fit for a king.”

      “Then I leave matters in your capable hands.”

Knowing his Gregory would order enough food for dinner and late-night nibbles for Sebastian should they be required, Mycroft hurried up the stairs to shower and change into more casual clothing.  Just because one worked from home did not mean one could neglect one’s appearance.  Today’s videoconference with the PM would have been a touch awkward, for example, if he had appeared in his fondly-remembered _The Dark Side of the Moon_ shirt and a pair of worn black jeans.  Mummy had been appalled by the ensemble, but that simply added to the appeal…

__________

      “Look at you… gorgeous as always.”

      “You are too kind, my dear.  My smell is rather pleasant, also.”

Greg leapt off the sofa and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, nuzzling his long neck and drawing in deep breaths of his lover’s scent.

      “You’re right.  Tastes good, too.”

Which was proved by the combination of soft kisses and gentle licks Greg laid on Mycroft’s cool, pale skin.

      “I strive to be as sensorially-stimulating as possible for you.”

      “You succeed.  Glass of wine before dinner to celebrate your expert stimulating of my senses?”

      “Exceptional suggestion.”

      “I’ve got a bottle waiting…”

Leading Mycroft to the sofa, Greg almost giggled at how much this felt like the dads having a date night since the kids were away at their gran’s.  Not that it mattered, because it was fucking wonderful and his Mycroft looked magnificent in the warm light of the candles he’d lit to accompany their meal.

      “So romantic, Gregory.”

      “We deserve it.”

      “I heartily agree.”

And sitting close to his lover to sip wine and talk about bits of nothing or lots of something was a stellar way to spend a quiet night at home.

      “Seb called while you were showering and he’ll be out late with Sherlock and John.  They’re going to watch a couple of Bond films and Seb’s going to provide professional critique of all the technical, weapony stuff while Sherlock provides the same for the sciency things.  John sounded like he was crying in the background, but I told Seb to nudge him to have a go at the medical side so they can all have fun trashing the films.”

      “Pooling their areas of expertise towards a common goal… a worthwhile endeavor.”

      “And it will certainly give us an uninterrupted evening to enjoy.”

Leaning in to give Mycroft a kiss, Greg nearly sighed at the taste of fine wine on Mycroft’s lips.  He’d kissed a lot of people in his life, but there was something particularly sweet about the ones he shared with Mycroft.  Maybe there was some science behind that.  Fall in love with a person and their kisses become a taste that can’t be surpassed.  He’d ask Sherlock about it at some point…

      That it shall.  And I have no doubt we shall enjoy it to the fullest.”

Mycroft laid his hand on Greg’s and found himself mesmerized by sight of his lover bathed in the glow of candlelight.  Gazing into his Gregory’s richly-colored eyes and feeling the gentle heat of his skin beneath his own cooler fingers, a sensation rose in Mycroft’s chest which clicked in such a manner that it was as if he’d been looking through fog that suddenly cleared to let the sun shine through.  Sometimes, life handed you a moment, one perfect moment when everything aligned in a certain way so that you knew, absolutely and positively knew, it was the moment for which you had waited and if you seized it, your rewards would be legion.  This, Mycroft knew, was one of those moments.

      “Gregory… these days with you here… I cannot express fully my happiness, my utter joy that I have found you in this world.”

Reaching up now to stroke his lover’s cheek, Mycroft hoped his feeble and unrehearsed words would rise to the quality necessary to declare his love for the man who had stolen his heart, but he had faith his Gregory would forgive any ramblings and missteps on his part.

      “Only with you, my dear, have I known true peace and contentment and it is not something I thought ever I would experience.  You have ensnared me, Gregory Lestrange and I know, I _truly_ know that I…

The doorbell made both Mycroft and Greg jump and if looks could kill, Mycroft’s glare would have cut the heart out of the delivery person on the other side of the door.

      “Mycroft… it’s… it’s ok.  Get the food and I’ll get plates and… we can continue this once we’re settled again.  Alright?  I… I very much like what you’re saying and… I’d like to hear more of it.”

Mycroft’s glare faded as he watched Greg’s face move through a series of emotions that all pointed towards their conversation going in a much-wanted and highly-agreeable direction.

      “And you shall, my dear.  My pitiful words will be yours and… I look forward to offering them.”

Standing as quickly as his wound permitted and darting off before he fell into an incoherent bout of besotted prattle, Mycroft tried desperately to slow his racing heart and Greg did much the same as he ran to gather the plates and forks.  This was it!  No eggs involved, either!  Mycroft was going to… oh, this was as fucking brilliant as a night could be!  Thank you Sebastian, Sherlock and John for staying the fuck away from the house tonight so he and Mycroft could… start their future.  Was he crying?  Shite!  He was!  There was water on his face!  No, you fucking idiot, save that for later!  Just get plates and control your sorry self until Mycroft can properly say the three magic words so you can say them back, cry and snog the life out of the man before dragging him onto the floor for a bit of spicier celebration that might involve nudity and bodies used as plates for their lovely meal.

Doing a little dance as he exited the kitchen, Greg noticed Mycroft still conversing with the delivery person, who seemed to want to step inside to discuss something further, then felt his heart begin racing again, but not because of their aborted conversation.  _This_ heart racing had him dropping the plates and reaching for the knife he normally kept in his pocket, realizing that he’d stopped doing that lately and, instead, grabbing a broken shard of plate off the ground and running towards the door.

      “Mycroft, move!”

Mycroft instinctively jumped out of the way and narrowly missed being in the way of the gun that the delivery driver pulled from his waistband and aimed at Greg, getting off a shot before he was taken down by the actor who tackled him, starting a brawl that saw the two men struggling for command of the gun before Greg had an opportunity to slash at his attacker’s face, earning him a savage shove that hurled him back into the house with the attacker quickly aiming and firing once more before he lost the opportunity to ever fire again, being dispatched with a single bullet by Mycroft who finally had a clear shot of his own.

      “Gregory!”

Seeing blood oozing from his lover, Mycroft threw himself onto the floor next to Greg, checking frantically for injury.

      “It’s… I’m alright, Mycroft.  Grazed my arm is all.  Fucker lost his aim, apparently, since I saw him at the hotel.  Or maybe he just had enough bullets then to actually hit his target through luck.”

Pressing his hand to Greg’s arm and noticing, also, the blood oozing from the cuts from the broken plate on his beloved’s hand, Mycroft’s brain clicked from extreme concern to analytical mode as his lover’s words pushed their way into his brain.

      “Gregory, are you saying he was one of the gunmen at the hotel?”

      “Yeah.  I’m… I’m sure of it.”

Commotion at the door alerted Mycroft that his own men had arrived and he yanked his mobile out of his pocket to stop any police response to the commotion.

      “I shall phone John, my dear.  Someone needs to tend to your wounds.”

      “Sc… scratches.”

      “I disagree and as you were dictatorial in seeing to my care I shall return the favor.  Let us, however, move you to the sofa where you will be more comfortable.”

Carefully getting Greg off the floor Mycroft pressed a kiss to his temple and saw him to the sofa, filling a glass of wine for him before returning to the front of the house to coordinate with the individuals currently preparing the body for transport and making security sweeps of the area.  With orders given and information taken, Mycroft made his call to John, terminating the call before Sebastian could grab the mobile and turn the yelling Mycroft heard in the background into yelling directly into his ear.  Then, it was time to see to his partner and have a steadying glass of wine himself

      “Well, love?”

      “They found the body of the delivery driver in the shrubbery surrounding my neighbor’s residence.  Fortunately for neighborly relations, it was collected without alerting the property owners.  I have increased the security presence around our home and the investigation has already begun into the perpetrator’s identity.  This _will_ be resolved, Gregory, I give you my most solemn promise.”

      “The fucker got in here, love.  He knew where I was and made it here where… he could have killed you!”

      “I was not his target, my dear, but yes… that he knew your location is extremely troubling.  Perhaps we should relocate you to…”

      “No.  Absolutely not.  I refuse to be chased away from my own house.  Not gonna happen.  Not now, not ever.”

As each man let sink in that they had both christened this structure as _theirs_ , Mycroft further felt his emotions crest as the thought of how close he had come to losing the man he loved tonight and he nearly choked from the sensation of panic that flooded his veins.

      “Mycroft?”

Having his lover tremble from pleasure was something Greg adored, but this trembling was for a far different reason and everything in him screamed his Mycroft needed him desperately right now.

      “It’s alright, love… here, feel.”

Greg took Mycroft’s hand and laid it over his heart so his lover could feel the strong, steady beat.

      “I’m alright.  I _am_ alright and you’re the reason for it.  He had me, Mycroft.  I couldn’t have dodged every shot and he _would_ have killed me if you hadn’t been here to keep me safe.  Yeah, the fucker found a way past our defenses, but he couldn’t breach the final wall, not completely.  You were there and he paid the proper price for invading our home like that.  You saved my life, Mycroft, and it’s a life I plan to live a long time.  With you…”

Mycroft felt his panic threatening to rip him apart, but the anchor his Gregory had fastened to him was helping keep the talons from their work.  Very slowly, with the soft string of soothing words in his ear and the continuous rhythm of Greg’s heartbeat beneath his fingers, the shrill siren in his head began to fade and his body stilled to the point where the tremors subsided enough for him to take the glass of wine his lover was holding at the ready.

      “I… I apologize, Gregory.”

      “Don’t, it’s not necessary.  You’ve got anxiety problems, don’t you?  I thought you might.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he was actually startled that those problems didn’t surge again from being put very much in the spotlight.

      “You know?”

      “I noticed at Kevin’s funeral that you… I know a few people who have their own little rituals and techniques to help manage anxiety issues and I recognized the patterns.”

      “You never said anything.”

      “Nothing _to_ say.  There’s nothing wrong with it, nothing shameful or worrying beyond you maybe needing a watching over when it becomes an issue.  But, yeah, I _do_ know and whatever I can do to help, know that I always will, even if the help is to leave you alone because that’s what you need at the moment.”

Sometimes, life handed you _another_ moment, a second perfect moment when everything aligned in a certain way so that you knew, absolutely and positively knew, it was the moment for which you had waited and life was determined that you _not_ let the chance pass you by.  _This_ , Mycroft knew, was one of those moments.

      “I love you, Gregory Lestrange.”

Hearing the words he’d hoped to heaven he would hear tonight, Greg was certain he felt his spirit or essence or whatever flow out of him and settle happily in the beams, bricks and mortar of what was now the home he would share with the man he loved.  Who was waiting to hear some reassurance that what he’d offered was given fully in return…

      “I love you, too, Mycroft Holmes.”

When the expected tear began to fall, Greg refused to wipe it and, instead, leaned in to kiss his partner, letting the river of the ridiculous words he was very likely to blurt out be washed away by the delicacy of Mycroft’s touch as Mycroft’s long fingers gently trailed up his neck and across his cheek.

      “My Gregory…”

      “I like the sound of that, so say it as often as you like.”

      “Oh, I shall… first, however, I shall prohibit your further consumption of wine so that it does not interfere with any medication John might provide to assist you with your pain.”

Neatly redirecting the uninjured hand Greg was using to reach for his wine glass, Mycroft then pushed the glass further out of reach and countered Greg’s stuck-out tongue with his most supercilious down-the-nose expression.

      “Not a sip, Gregory Lestrange, no matter the surliness of your response.”

      “Man gets shot protecting his home and he can’t even have a mouthful of wine!  What is this w… world coming to?”

Dipping a finger into his own glass, Mycroft held out the wet digit and smirked as Greg slurped it into his mouth.

      “You may have what wine you can harvest from my skin before our familial hangers-on arrive to further interrupt our evening.”

      “That’s fair.  I’ll harvest as much as I can, too, because Seb is going to be typhoonic and he can be… you’d be surprised at how… how loud he can be.”

Knowing the adrenaline was beginning to ebb and the pain was setting in with its full fury, Mycroft smiled gently and gave his lover another tender kiss.  His Gregory had been threatened once again and that, he vowed, was the final time it would happen.  The attacker would be identified and with the additional data he collected today… it was good that Sebastian was racing in this direction, typhoonic or not, because there were questions to be answered and it was highly likely he held the answer to a number of them… 


	32. Chapter 32

      “DAD!”

Ah, Sebastian had arrived.  And, yes, he was impressively loud.

      “In here, son.”

Greg sighed and winced as he sat forward to brace for invasion.

      “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!”

Noticing the security men clinging to Sebastian as he stormed into the sitting room, Mycroft waved them off and continued the waving off as Sherlock and John forced their way into view.

      “The family is arrived, Gregory.  Verily, the festivities may begin.”

      “YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, MYCROFT!  THIS IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT YOU PATHETIC INCOMPETENT!”

      “Seb, you keep a civil tongue in your mouth or go fill that mouth with gin until you’re in a better temper.”

The flurry of back and forth rude gestures between father and son only stopped when a particularly rude example required two hands, one of which happened to be attached to Greg’s injured arm.  The yelp of pain had the assassin grabbing John, pushing him at Greg, then dropping to his knees to get a better look at his father.

      “Sebastian…”

Mycroft was actually taken aback by the ferocity of the glare he received from the assassin, but no impudent toddler, despite the degree of on-person weaponry, was going to intimidate him in his own sitting room.

      “… what would be most helpful now is calm support for your father while John tends to his injuries.”

The plural at the end of Mycroft’s sentence turned Seb’s attention away from the man who allowed his father to come to harm, and set him cataloging the battle wounds Greg was sporting.

      “God, dad, your hand…”

      “It’s nothing.”

      “NOTHING!  This arsehole drug you or something so you don’t let people know how fucking useless he is!”

Sebastian’s bark of pain from Greg’s flick of his ear certainly did not bring a smile to Mycroft’s face, because that would be incalculably immature and he was, for the record, a staggeringly mature man.

      “That is enough!  I’ll have you know Mycroft placed a perfect shot right in the fucker’s forehead, so you should be thanking him.”

      “I’d thank him if… John, Dad’s tendons aren’t cut are they?  That graze on his arm doesn’t worry me, but I’ve seen fingers cut clear to unusable…”

Nobody quite had the courage to ask for further detail and John used the moment of horrified mental images to finish his preliminary examination.

      “The cuts aren’t _that_ deep, but a couple will need sutures and you’re going to have to pay attention, Greg, to using this hand for awhile.  It should heal nicely, though, so don’t worry about impaired motion; I doubt that’s going to be a problem.”

Sebastian nodded in that specific way that said he was going over and over what John said and fitting it in with the other worries and questions about the night, as well as his fear, which was still lingering even with a living, breathing father sitting here to talk to.

      “Ok… ok, good.  Now… fucking useless for everything rat bastard, I mean, Mycroft, want to tell me how someone got in here to have another go at Dad?  In your personal home.  Which is obviously is accessible as a fucking public park!”

Something that was often a bit of of a debate in Mycroft’s mind and, which was looming again for re-evaluation.

      “Because this _is_ my home, Sebastian.  My home in an agreeable and sedate area where a high degree of visible security would neither be appreciated nor tolerated without a great deal of publicity that I certainly cannot allow.  As far as anyone is concerned, I have a minor role in government and some family monies to fund my lifestyle and such does not warrant an ostentatious gated compound for my residence.  Yes, I do see maintained additional police patrols, which is to be expected in an affluent region of the city, and have my own assets and resources turned towards security and safety for myself and my neighbors.  Any vehicle entering a several-block radius is immediately identified through vehicle registration and facial recognition, if possible, with police notified if something seems amiss.  In this case, a delivery person _was_ registered on this street and the identity of the vehicle and driver was corroborated.  It was only when he left the vehicle and moved towards the house that he was killed by the attacker, first being hailed towards a darkened area where, I admit, surveillance coverage is less than maximum.  A quick exchange of jacket and cap…”

      “And you arrogantly believed that your flimsy cover story would protect you?  Fuck me, but you’re stupid.   I’m surprised we’re not a colony of the fucking US by now.”

      “I will admit that… perhaps, there was some degree of complacency on my part owing to the vast number of years my ‘flimsy’ cover has served perfectly well to guard my life and my home, however, I am not too arrogant to fail to learn from changes of situation.  New measures will be implemented and the changes will occur quickly, I assure you.”

      “Not soon enough to protect Dad!”

Mycroft sighed and put a hand on Greg’s knee to hold him back from the scolding he was poised to give his son.  To some extent, Sebastian was absolutely correct.  While he generally operated at a level where his true role in government was not visible, there _were_ those who knew and knowledge can be bought, sold or bartered.  With his own life he could afford to take chances, but not with Gregory’s.

      “And because the individual is dead, no interrogation is possible.”

Looking over towards his brother, who had been strangely silent so far, Mycroft felt a tiny smile bloom on his lips at the clear upset Sherlock was experiencing as he looked at the man currently being tended by Sherlock’s own partner.  There was an affection there, a thing always to celebrate in his dear brother’s life.

      “Something that did occur to me during the incident, however, the threat was too great to intend my first shot be a wounding one.  Information was lost, that is true, but what was _not_ lost was Gregory’s life and that is the far more valuable commodity.”

      “I need to examine the body.”

      “I ordered it transported to Bart’s, where your Ms. Hooper shall conduct the postmortem.  I have no doubt she will welcome your assistance.”

Sherlock whirled and sped out of the house, further lightening his brother’s heart.  Sherlock cared more than he would have people know but, sometimes, his attempts to hide that fact were not as successful as he might wish.  Nevertheless, there was little doubt that with Sherlock’s observational skill, any information that could be gleaned from the corpse would not escape detection and would likely be valuable for bringing this dreadful business to a close.

      “Hear that, Dad?  Sherlock’s going to go séance with the dead and find out who fucking has it in for you.”

      “He’s a good lad.  Need… need to find him something special to say thank you.  John, how far along are you on my last little set of suggestions?”

Greg’s pained grin wasn’t pained enough for John not to make a slightly harder than necessary anesthetic jab into the flesh of his patient’s arm, savoring the tiny jump Greg gave in surprise.

      “None of your business and do _not_ send Sherlock on another shopping trip, thank you very much.”

      “Why not?  I _am_ a professional, you know.  I wouldn’t st… steer him wrong, but you and I can chat to narrow down my recommendations to ones I really know will tingle the dingle.”

John waved the hypodermic purposefully in front of Greg’s face and made a motion with it needle-first towards the tongue that Greg stuck out in reply.

      “Dad… no.  I’m not completely certain what you’re going on about, but the 15% certainty I do have is enough to nauseate me, so no.”

      “Not you, too!  We’re all adults here, Seb.  Active ones, too.  Well, _we_ are.  Not sure about you.  How is the love life, g… going son?  Anything filthy to report?”

      “NO!  No, that is _not_ an approved topic of conversation.  John, sew his mouth shut, as well as his arm.  Keep that evil bottled up where it belongs, in his shriveled, black heart.”

Reaching over to run his fingers through his lover’s hair, Mycroft was proud his Gregory so successfully was keeping his pain and fatigue away from his son’s immediate notice.  His poor partner… not injured as fiercely as he had first feared, but…

      “It’s alright, love.”

Oh dear.  Must remember not to stare mournfully…

      “Pardon?”

      “I _am_ alright.  And that nick on my arm will cover nicely with a little work by the makeup people on set, so it won’t be visible at all when I film.”

      “Yes, that was my most pressing worry.”

      “It should be!  How can I stand my half of the bills if I can’t work for a living, now that we’re… well, these two don’t need the details of that.”

Gregory Lestrange… that wicked, wicked smile… how adroitly you introduce the concept of our cohabitation to Sebastian and John and confirm it nicely in my own mind.

      “What!  Dad… are making some kind of sad, middle-aged announcement?”

Your words are teasing, Sebastian, but your face is emitting a particularly eager light at the thought of your father choosing to live in my accessible as a fucking public park home.  And, since you are somewhat skilled, apparently, with security systems and the like, we may put those skills to use beginning tomorrow to offset the food and lodging costs for your innumerable visits in the future.

      “Sorry, son.  Didn’t want to make you even more nauseated.  Go have a biscuit or something to calm your tummy.”

      “Oh no.  Let’s hear it plainly and simply.  John, you’re the witness.  And, if he lies, sew his fingers together.”

John thought a minute, then nodded his agreement, clearing his throat before motioning Greg to continue with his proclamation.

      “I think I’ll go to bed now.”

      “Wrong.  You, Dad, are going to clarify a few things so I can start putting pictures in my room and scratching my initials in the headboard.”

      “You leave Mycroft’s furniture alone, territorial little bastard.”

      “Dad…”

Mycroft smothered a grin and gave Greg’s leg a little squeeze, letting the grin loose when his lover turned to him for moral support.

      “I believe, my dear, the traditional advice is that confession is good for the soul.”

Now it was Greg smiling and, forgetting for a moment the pain that was sapping his energy, he took a deep breath to share his news.

      “Fine you horribly nosy son of mine.  It’s just… Mycroft and I… might be seeing quite a lot of each other from now on.”

      “As in before I leave I have to move your tat from your flat into his death trap?”

One more shared look with Mycroft and Greg was confidently nodding at his son.

      “You have to do something to pay for all that food you’ve been tossing into your maw.”

Sebastian tried to hide his grin, but it peeked out anyway, as did John’s who was honestly happy for the man he’d come to call a friend and his eternal kidnapper, Mycroft.

      “Congratulations!  Always happy to have another hand to mind Sherlock when I need a sanity break.”

Now it was the good doctor having his own moment of obscene gesture sharing with Greg, who cheated and used his feet, fortuitously lacking shoes to demonstrate his talents with foot battle, much to John’s annoyance as his own feet weren’t exactly positioned to leap into combat.

      “My dear, such agitation cannot be healthy for you at the moment.  Perhaps it is a good time for John to provide you with the necessary medication for your pain and assist you with obtaining clean clothing.  I am afraid our dinner is irretrievably compromised, but I feel certain Sebastian and I can concoct something appropriate that will not be too heavy for your likely sensitive stomach.  In fact, we shall begin on that now.  Sebastian?”

Mycroft’s highly-polite smile was all the evidence Greg needed that his lover wanted a small chat with his virtual step-son and that, alone was enough reason to toddle off upstairs and leave them alone to do it.  The desire for unbloodied clothes and a handful of pain pills simply kicked the ball the final few feet into the goal.

      “That sounds good, love.  John, want to help this old, broken down, yet scandalously handsome and sexy body get sorted so it doesn’t insult anyone’s appetite?”

      “As long as I don’t have to touch it, sure.”

With that rousing confession of friendship lingering in the air, Greg gave Mycroft a quick look that set his lover in motion helping the handsome and sexy body off of the sofa and transferring it to John’s tender care.  Then came the pointed look at the assassin which remained evident every time Sebastian looked back over his shoulder as Mycroft followed him to the kitchen.

      “Alright, Dad’s negligent fucking boyfriend… what?”

      “Can we agree that I consider myself duly chastised for unpreparedness and allow the insults to come to an end?”

      “No.”

Of course not.  This was Sherlock 2.0, albeit with extra height and a scar.

      “Very well.  Might we, then, agree that as a measure to work towards that goal, say, giving you the responsibility of reviewing and improving the security of this structure and surrounding grounds, is a prudent decision?”

      “Oh… yeah.  My arse will be on that first thing tomorrow.”

      “Excellent.  Though, I feel, we might begin on that tonight.”

      “Alright.  Once I’m sure Dad’s settled, I can start mapping the area and…”

      “Actually, I had something a bit different in mind.”

      “Want to tell me what that is or is it more fun to pretend to be inscrutable?”

      “I _do_ enjoy a touch of inscrutability in my day, however, it is probably wise simply to come to the point.  What is your connection to Jim Moriarty?”

A silent Sebastian was both a blessing and a curse, leaving Mycroft to savor a few seconds of quiet before repeating his question to spur some form of response.

      “None.  There, happy now?”

      “No, because you are lying and this is neither the time no the circumstance for a lie.”

      “I’m not lying.”

      “You are and I do have the evidence to prove that fact, so think carefully before attempting to deceive me another time.”

      “What proof?”

      “Your mobile.”

      “What about it?”

      “After our last conversation on the topic of Moriarty, I, shall we say, borrowed it while you showered and extracted certain information necessary to access your call log.  Quite interestingly, calls have been placed recently to a number we believe is associated with Moriarty’s network of communications.”

      “You fucking hacked my phone!”

      “And obtained information I feel highly relevant to your father’s situation and, to be honest, tonight’s incident.”

      “You… you honestly believe I would do anything, anything at _all_ , to put my father in danger!  What the fuck is wrong with you?”

      “More intriguing is your continued evasion of my question.  No, do pardon me, outright duplicity is not evasion, so I stand corrected.”

      “I… wrong.  You are absolutely, completely wrong.”

      “I think not.  And, as this impacts Gregory’s safety, I shall not let the matter rest until I have a satisfactory answer.”

Feeling entirely unsurprised that the assassin bared his teeth and bore down on him, Mycroft simply stood and waited for the inevitable nose-to-nose confrontation.

      “You will let it rest and you’ll let it rest _now_.”

      “Wrong.  You would not do so if you were in my position and you are very well aware of that fact.  Now, the sooner I have the information I require, the sooner I might be able to _act_ on the information and see Gregory’s safety further protected.”

Knowing, without a sliver of doubt, that a physical altercation between the two of them would be a rather intriguing competition, albeit hampered by his own partially-healed wound, Mycroft stood quietly suffering Sebastian’s angry breath on his face until the sniper stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, snarling at Mycroft in defeat.

      “Jim wouldn’t hurt Dad.”

Jim, not Moriarty.  Curious.  But, perhaps, not as curious as all that…

      “I would ask the basis of your certainty.”

      “That’s not important.  What’s important is I _am_ certain.  End of story.”

      “Not, as they say, by a long shot.  You have placed calls, while in this house, to someone who is potentially involved in Drake’s murder and the attempted murder of your father.  The story, I believe is yet to have started.”

      “You have no actual evidence Jim is involved!”

      “I have sufficient evidence to make the probability of his involvement exceedingly high.  That you continue to defend him, it must be said, calls into question your own motives and loyalties.”

This snarl was more vicious than the first, but the look in the eyes that accompanied it said the point was not lost on Sebastian.

      “I… I’ve done a job or two for Jim.”

      “A professional relationship, especially in your trade, warrants neither your vociferous defense nor your ease of use of his given name.”

      “Mycroft… look, it’s…”

      “Your relationship is obviously personal, Sebastian.  I would know where on the personal spectrum it lies.”

      “That’s my business.”

      “If your father had not nearly perished this evening or twice before, I would agree.  The situation, however, merits full disclosure so I may assess the impingement on matters at hand.”

      “Can we keep Dad out of this?”

      “That remains to be seen.  I fail to see, however, why that would be important.”

      “Because you saw him!  His snubby little nose in my… personal business.  Man shouldn’t have to live with his Dad snooping into who he’s shagging!”

Realizing that the proverbial beans had been well and truly spilled, Sebastian simply gave Mycroft a ‘and there you have it’ wave of his arms and drew out a chair to have a seat, something which Mycroft joined in on after a moment.

      “Moriarty is your lover.”

      “I… sort of.  It’s complicated.”

That, Mycroft had no difficulty believing fully.

      “And you do not wish your father to know.  Do you… is it a matter of his disapproval?”

      “Not necessarily.  It’s just… it’s not really in the cards for me to have what one would call a real relationship.  Always on the move, job to job… never entirely certain who might be knocking on my door and so I answer it with a gun in my hand.  Dad… that’s made him sad, I know it has.  Now and then, Jim and I get together, maybe take a holiday or I stay a bit after I’ve finished a job for him and… it works for us.  I’m not sure Dad would understand that because he is, as you well know, a ridiculous romantic who _does_ believe in true love and happily ever after and all the bullshit he knows really isn’t true because he has eyes and ears and lives on this planet with all the other bastards, but…”

Another ‘there you have it’ wave of his hands preceded Sebastian beginning to prune browning leaves from the small bouquet of flowers in the vase at the center of the table.

      “I believe he would be happy for you, Sebastian, even if he found your situation an atypical one.”

      “Which is even worse, since he would be a fucking _misery_ for wanting to know details and have Jim over for dinner when I’m in London and do all the doting things he’s wanted to do with the person in my life.  Not to mention… Jim’s not the… he’s not the person most people would _want_ at their table, if I’m honest.  He’s… he’s a bit like Sherlock, actually, though with a darker streak that… well, I like it, but… it’s just complicated, alright?”

Given that, for the most part, Sebastian’s relationship with his father ran along surprisingly normal lines, this reasoning was strangely believable.  However, it left certain matters unaddressed and those were, really, the most pressing.

      “I do feel Gregory would welcome hearing your news, admittedly, combined with a conversation to establish your concerns and negotiate some form of familial rules on the subject, however… none of this erases very clear and recent ties between Moriarty and Derek Drake.”

      “That could be for any number of things!  Jim does a lot of business, a lot of different and varied business… it could be for anything.  Or nothing!  You could be wrong entirely.”

      “I doubt that, Sebastian.  At the very least, I would want to assess firsthand if he had knowledge of the situation and the detail of any knowledge he possessed.”

      “I would know!”

      “Oh, you are apprised of all of his business dealings and he yours?”

      “I… no, but…”

      “My concern for this situation is multi-leveled, including the murder of an individual we were hoping to groom as an asset, how his removal has affected his business ventures and, sitting squarely in the center, your father’s continued existence in this world.  Your unsupported assurances are simply not sufficient.”

Mycroft watched Sebastian lean back in his chair and cast his eyes out the window into the darkness, tapping his fingers on the table until he began nodding and rose to move towards the refrigerator.

      “If you hear it from him, will that satisfy you.”

      “If I believe he is truthful, yes.  If I do not, then no.”

      “Alright, I can’t say that’s not fair.  I’ll set a time and place for us to meet with him and…”

      “For _me_ to meet with him.”

      “No.”

      “Yes.  I do not have faith your presence will not make the discussion a less than productive one, owing both to your temper and your desire to sway the conversation in a single direction.  I will vouchsafe Moriarty’s safety and continued freedom during our discussion, but it _will_ occur between the two of us and the two of us alone.”

      “I won’t be able to convince him of that.”

      “Then we are at an impasse.  Since that cannot stand, I shall have to recruit assistance onto my side of the conflict.”

      “You fucking wouldn’t!”

      “I assure you that I would.”

      “You’d use Dad against me, you bastard?”

      “As it is his life on the proverbial line, yes, I would.  I recognize your concerns, Sebastian, but they do not outweigh the severity of the situation and the continued threat to Gregory’s safety.  I _am_ sorry, but that will not stand in the way of my acquiring the information I require.”

The final snarl of the meeting held little heat because, in his heart, Sebastian knew he’d fight just as hard, and dirty, if it was him in Mycroft’s place.  And, since this would make Jim incredibly peevish, Mycroft would have to deal with the peevishness and that would be a measure of revenge that could only be described as brilliant.

      “I’ll do what I can, but I _cannot_ promise anything.  And, no talking to Dad about Jim until… I’ll do that myself if and when I see fit.”

      “I shall leave the personal aspect of yours and Jim’s relationship to your discretion.  And I trust that you _will_ succeed in convincing him to meet with me; your powers of persuasion are most formidable.”

Finally, the assassin felt himself relax and he laughed for the first time since he arrived.

      “Maybe, but I’ve never tried to get money off of Jim.”

      “Oh… you do not seem the bashful type.”

      “I’m not.  Evil little fucker always claims to have forgotten his wallet every time we go anywhere!  Even when I can see it sitting in his bloody pocket!”

Good lord, the man _was_ like Sherlock… what a dismal conversation this was likely to be…

      “Then promise him a night out in London once he and I have completed our business together.  Perhaps the thought of mining your pockets will draw him from his lair.”

      “That’s actually not a bad suggestion.  Offer him a shopping trip… vain as the day is long, he is, so that should pique his interest.”

      “I shall leave it in your capable hands.  Now, let us make good on our word and prepare something for Gregory to eat.  I take it you and John have already dined?”

      “I could eat again.”

      “Very well, we shall expand our culinary quest to satisfy a larger number of mouths.”

      “Just be very aware that yours is only going to keep its teeth if… fuck me, do I really need to remind you not to hurt dad or I’ll kill you, or do you remember it well enough from the last time we had that conversation?”

      “It is still fairly fresh in my mind as, I am certain, my part of the conversation is in yours.”

      “And, lucky for me, you’re going to be living together, so that’s going to make it a lot easier to judge if you get to _continue_ living or not.”

      “I do pride myself on engendering efficiency in others.”

      “Just… be good to him, Mycroft.”

Stopping his browsing through the cupboards, Mycroft looked over towards the sniper who was looking back, and was suddenly very aware of what the boy who stalked his lover had looked like all those years ago.

      “I will.”

With that sorted, the two men returned to work to ensure their mutual loved-one was fed and comfortable for the night, each one conceding that if it came to pass, working with the other on this or that future matter wouldn’t be the fiery end of the world.  The negotiations for the work would be challenging, but challenges were what made life interesting.  Besides, there was a third party that could always be used as ammunition when things truly got brutal.  And each was very sure that third party would side with _them_ when the battle lines were being drawn…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For little previews, thought processes and other tidbits feel free to visit me on twitter or tumblr (eventhorizon451)...


	33. Chapter 33

      “Alright, get some rest and I’ll check in tomorrow.”

      “Do you ever actually _work_ as a doctor, John, or do you just sit about waiting for the phone to ring for a friend to say they’ve fucked themselves up?”

      “Mostly the latter, but now and again I make a showing at an official doctoring location and stand there looking sexy for an hour or two for appearances sake.”

      “Good to know.  Mycroft!  With food!  All we need is music and we’ve got a party!”

      “John, to what degree is Gregory medicated?”

      “That’s all him, sad to say.  Well, mostly.  He’s got enough to dull the worst of the pain, but watch him closely.  That’s not a medical warning, it’s just a general warning because Greg’s a bastard.”

      “I consider myself duly warned.”

      “Then I’ll leave you two alone.”

John made certain to pluck the pain pill bottle away from Greg and hand it to Mycroft as the responsible adult in the room and wondered if there was still any wine left in the bottle with Greg’s bloody fingerprints on it.  Something which probably should have been taken into account before giving his patient a touch extra in the pill department so he could have a pain-free sleep.  Oh well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and he could do with a little strength of his own right now.   A nice glass of crisp white alcohol, for instance, sounded lovely at this point.  A full-bodied red was best for some evenings, such as one featuring Sherlock’s experiments with things no longer alive, but probably wished they were, but tonight was well-paired with something lighter.  Not nearly enough body parts for a red… sutures just weren’t a proper substitute…

      “Oh, Gregory… how badly do you hurt?”

Mycroft took a seat on the edge of the bed and set down Greg’s plate before giving his lover a kiss and gently taking his hand and arm for his own inspection of the damage.

      “It’s not that terrible, love, it really isn’t.  Of course, that’s probably the pills talking, but John said this will all heal nicely and it’ll be as if none of this never happened.  Which it _did_ , though, and if that fucker wasn’t dead I’d kill him myself.  Nobody endangers my Mycroft and walks away with his bollocks still attached to his body.  Cut those fuckers right off the corpse, if I have to.  Unless it’s a woman… I need a contingency plan for that.”

His Gregory obviously received more medication than he recognized and that was perfectly fine.  Thank you, John.

      “I feel exceptionally protected.”

      “Good.  Because I protect the ones I love.”

Greg’s wide, bright grin warmed Mycroft’s heart and won his Greg another kiss, which he would joyfully bestow as often as was possible.

      “Ugh.  John ensured me you did not have sufficient time to begin any sexual activities, but I see you outpaced even his estimates.  Disgusting.”

Hello, brother dear.  So happy to welcome you to the bedroom Gregory and I will now share in perpetuity.

      “Yes, Sherlock, kissing the man one loves is truly an act to inspire disgust.”

      “I agree.  Unless we are speaking of John, in which case the situation is entirely different.”

      “Of course.  Now, will you explain why you are, first, in our bedroom and, second, returned so soon from your investigation?”

Sherlock reached into his pocket and flicked a card at Mycroft, which bounced off Mycroft’s nose and made Greg giggle in a way that had Mycroft shoving the pain pills deeper into his pocket before picking up the card from the blanket covering Greg’s legs.

      “Ah.  His driving license.  That did speed the process along nicely, didn’t it?”

      “Your security personnel should not only be sacked, they should be drowned.  Then burned.  Then drowned again.”

      “What did they do to you, brother dear?”

      “I was removed from the vehicle and left on the side of the road near an aesthetically-displeasing petrol station.”

Greg laughed merrily and Mycroft smothered his own to put, instead, a serious and concerned look on his face.

      “Stop smiling, Fatcroft!”

Must work harder at evincing serious and concerned when his brother was involved.

      “Do pardon me, I was remembering a witticism Gregory uttered before you walked in.  And, I assure you, I shall issue a sternly-worded censure to the parties involved.  Now, I take it you were able to make some analysis of the body before you were ejected, else you would not have such a prize to present.”

      “Given I had uninterrupted access to the body, it seemed a prudent use of time.”

      “Was there anything further of note you learned?”

      “The assailant was an incredibly stupid person.”

      “And how was that determined?”

      “He arrived to commit murder in a heavily-patrolled, affluent area surely provided with a wealth of security measures, with his actual driving license in his pocket, for starters.  Next, he simply didn’t shoot you then go and search of Lestrange, which would have been the efficient strategy for incursion.”

      “Hey!  Don’t even think about your brother being shot.  That’s rude.”

      “That was my intent, Lestrange.”

      “Oh.  Well done you then, lad.”

      “Thank you.  However, my point is made.  This individual was in no manner professional or intelligent.”

An intriguing point and one Mycroft quickly slotted into his mental filing system for additional reflection.

      “Interesting.  One would expect a rather significant action such as Drake’s murder to be undertaken by someone with, at least, a moderate degree… competence.”

      “Bullets!”

Sherlock and Mycroft looked at Greg who was shimmying in the bed and both wondered if John’s medical certification didn’t require a review.

      “Gregory, is there something more you would like to add to your exclamation?”

      “Lots of bullets!”

This shimmying reminded Mycroft a bit too much of what he had last enjoyed with his limbs tied to the bed currently hosting the shimmying, and he laid a calming hand on his lover’s leg to keep Sherlock from any further opportunity to enjoy his Gregory’s performance.

      “Just a touch extra, my dear, if you please.”

      “Don’t you remember?  There was a LOT of damage to the room.  Not a pow!  one bullet in the head like you did, love, because you’re amazing, but a lot of bullets.  And, there were two of them there!  Fucking amateurs.  My Seb would have killed both of them for insulting his profession if he’d been there.  You would have, too.  You invent a time machine, that’s the first thing we’re doing… going back to the hotel so you and Seb can either kill the fucking amateurs or show them how it’s supposed to be done.  Either one, I’m fine with whatever you choose.”

      “Gregory does have a point, medicated descent into science fiction, notwithstanding.  We had assumed that the extensive damage was to make a statement, however, it could be attributable to a less than professional standard of performance.”

      “I think they _liked_ to shoot the fuck out of the room, actually.  You have to admit that shooting things _is_ fun.  Not people… I don’t think I’d like that a lot, but stuff and things… yeah… blow up the stuff and things… is that my sandwich?”

Mycroft handed the plate to his lover who smiled happily and began munching while Mycroft patted his leg and marveled that this was the man who was going to share his life.

      “Something is clearly wrong with his brain.”

      “Be that as it may, brother, this integrates with certain of Sebastian’s opinions on the issue.  He believed, for instance, the shooter on the roof of the hotel was not necessarily a professional individual.  The cemetery, however was a different situation.”

      “Mycroft got shot by a professional!  Fucking Finn bastard.  I see him, I’m going to punch him in the fucking face.  His fucking Finnish face will find my fist.  No… my fist will find his fucking Finnish face.  Yeah…. that one.”

      “Thank you, my dear.  Sherlock, share your information, and Gregory’s thoughts… the relevant ones… with Sebastian and together you might find new insights into the problem.”

      “No.”

      “May I ask the reason?”

      “I have not been properly compensated for my efforts.”

      “Are you hoping I pay you first?”

      “Yes.”

      “Have you been talking to Sebastian about extorting money from me?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “If you leave now you may have whatever you find in the pockets of any of my winter coats in the cloakroom.”

Sherlock raced out of the bedroom and Greg paused a moment from eating his sandwich to admire his speed.

      “We have a cloakroom, love?”

      “No, but he will remember that at some point and that point…”

Mycroft rose and locked the bedroom door, adding a wedge between it and the floor so that Sherlock’s inevitable lock-picking would avail him naught.

      “… will be none of our concern.  Have you assuaged your hunger?”

      “Does that mean am I finished with my food?”

      “It does.”

      “Then, yes.  Unless you have more.”

      “Let us allow this portion to digest and then you may have a second sandwich if you still feel the need.”

      “Crisps?”

      “Whatever quantity you desire.”

      “Yes!”

Another shimmy began and, this one, Mycroft simply sat quietly and admired.

      “That’s my crisps dance.”

      “I was profoundly moved by the emotion of your performance.”

      “That’s why I dance.  And act.  Sexy, sexy acting.  Emotion!  And hard-ons.  Mostly hard-ons.  But emotion, too.”

      “Your devotion to your profession never fails to inspire me.”

And your response to alcohol and pain killers will never fail to amuse me greatly.

      “Thank you!”

      “And you have my thanks, also, for your astute analysis of the situation at the hotel.  It is entirely possible that the events of tonight might see us resolve our problem in a shorter time frame than I previous predicted.”

      “Then I’ll be FREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”

      “Such full-throated delivery.”

      “I sing.  That helps.”

      “I am certain it does.  Now, might you sleep awhile?  I suspect you would benefit from a night’s rest after this tumultuous day.”

      “Can’t eat crisps when I’m sleeping.”

      “True, but shall I make this counteroffer.  At breakfast, you shall have a full bag of crisps to accompany your meal.”

      “I love you, Mycroft.  Even without crisps, I love you.”

      “That is high praise, indeed.  And I love you, my dear.  Even when you are not glowing with inner bliss because you are eating crisps.”

A bit more shimmying began which Mycroft got to experience physically as Greg linked their hands, then dropped one with a wince and just held one while he gave Mycroft’s arm a little push and pull to accompany his blissful crisps samba.

      “You really think this is almost over, Mycroft?”

Perhaps, though for reasons I cannot divulge owing to my carefully-negotiated contract with your offspring.

      “We are far closer than before, I believe.  I know you are exceedingly eager to rejoin the world outside these walls.”

      “I am.  Just the simple, stupid things like doing my own grocery buying and taking you somewhere nice for a drink or a bit of music.  Robbing a few banks and molesting some pigeons.  Nothing complicated.”

      “Simplicity often defines the most pleasurable and rewarding aspects of life.”

      “Yeah… kiss?”

Mycroft leaned over and gently kissed his lover, enjoying the small hum that accompanied their affection.

      “Might that, my dear, be interpreted as a goodnight kiss?”

      “Ummmmm… sure.  You going to join me?”

      “Soon.  I believe it is wise to discuss thoroughly today’s events with Sherlock, Sebastian and John so they feel fully briefed and I will, also, take a few moments to set in motion a few tendrils of inquiry based on what he have learned this evening.  Then, I shall return and join you.”

And you, I so greatly hope, will be asleep, for I see clearly the post-incident fatigue deepening the character-defining lines of your face.  My poor Gregory… so good a soul to have such things happen…

      “Alright, then.  Maybe I’ll read a little while I wait.”

      “As you wish.  Shall I start some music to accompany your book?”

Which will be soft and lulling, so that it helps encourage your sleep.

      “That sounds good.  Not too long, though, alright?  Hate to be up here all alone when your gorgeous body isn’t up here with me.”

That burningly-wicked smile will not avail you any sexual escapades, my dear, for you need sleep and I have no true intention to return for my own rest in the next several hours.  There is far too much to pursue to be distracted by your masculine beauty.

      “I shall return as soon as humanly feasible.”

      “Kisses for your poor old man to hold him over until you return?”

Well… a small amount of distraction would not signal the end of the world.  Besides, if things went to plan the next kisses would not come until morning and that was a punishingly long time to wait…

__________

With Sherlock and John finally satisfied with news, wine and, for Sherlock, hard cash, it was quick work to bid them goodbye and Mycroft enjoyed a long, cleansing sigh before beginning the next portion of the evening.

      “Dad’s asleep.  I checked.”

      “Ah, good.  That was, in fact, my next destination.  Given the situation, I feel it wise to postpone returning to the office for another day or two to ensure he is well and his needs are met.”

      “I can do that.  You go and trace this stupid fucker so you can find who’s trying to hurt dad.  Then I can kill them and have a few days in London simply to relax before I’m back at work, myself.”

      “Have you something already under contract?”

      “None of your business, Dad’s boyfriend.”

      “Of course.  However, we must discuss, you and I, the disposition of the individual ultimately responsible for your father’s situation.  Assassination may not be the most prudent action.”

      “They tried to kill dad.  That means they die.   It’s about the simplest fucking equation in the history of equations.  Besides… they _did_ kill Kevin and that’s worth death on its own, so I’ll make certain this fucker pays a painful price for what they did.”

      “Sebastian… I have intended, yet have not found the correct moment… I _am_ sorry for your loss.  Gregory told me how important Kevin and his wife were to you and you do have my sympathy for that.  It is not an easy thing to lose people who have impacted your life and I am sorry that these circumstances put him in harm’s way.”

Seb snarled slightly, but not at Mycroft.  He knew, better than most, that incidental damage occurred with things like these, sometimes intentional, sometimes not, but… yeah, it did hurt.  And was fucking unfair.  Which is why the bastard responsible wasn’t going to have a quick and easy sendoff from this world.

      “Thanks.  Kev was one of the most decent men I ever met.  Tough as nails, too.  Caring, decent, but you fucked with him and you quickly wished you hadn’t.  I’ll miss him.  When this is over, I’ll have Dad take me to his grave so I can say a proper goodbye.  You… you can come, too, if you promise not to be dumb and get shot again.”

Disregarding the insult and focusing on the actual honor being offered, Mycroft recognized even more fully how complicated his life was poised to become.

      “I shall try not to comprise the solemnity of the moment with my idiocy.”

      “See that you don’t.  So… now what?”

      “I shall see a few things set in motion and collect whatever information has been gained from further examination of the body and its identity.  When do you intend to contact Moriarty?”

      “Done it already.”

      “Oh… well, that was alacritous.”

      “Didn’t want you pecking at me.”

      “My beak _is_ a rather sharp one, I must admit.  Have you any idea of how long it will be before there is a reply?”

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders and Mycroft noticed how they still held tension, either from Greg’s worrying evening or the idea that Moriaty might have some involvement _in_ the worrying evening.

      “Very well.  I suggest, then, that you take what sleep you can and we may discuss matters further in the morning.”

      “Alright.  I have one or two things I want to check in the morning, but that’ll be early and we can talk when I get back if I leave before you’re awake.  I’ll be back before noon, though, if you decide you want to go off and push your papers in the afternoon.”

      “Thank you, Sebastian.  Depending on my progress tonight, I may find that the most efficient option.”

Rising slowly and grabbing the half-empty bottle of vodka that had somehow become a good idea among the younger members of the family, Sebastian set off to bed, with a final check of his father before he found his own room to relax and let the night bleed out of his system.  Mycroft was arrogant, but he seemed the type to learn from his fuck-ups, so it was highly unlikely a direct attack would have the chance to happen again.  But, part of the morning and most of the afternoon was going to be devoted to making this house so tightly secure that a fly wouldn’t be able to come in without having to leave its fingerprints and show three forms of ID.  Did flies have fingers?  That was something else he could check tomorrow.  With Mycroft’s bank card that Sherlock had slipped him, he could easily buy a book on flies or whatever else he needed to make certain his father never had to worry about his safety again…

__________

Mycroft worked through the night and almost squawked when he took active notice of the time and realized that his lover would like be awake soon and most aggrieved to find himself alone in the bed given the assurances of the previous night.

With a rapid closing of various files and lines of communication, Mycroft hustled upstairs and wasn’t in bed more than a few minutes before Greg stirred slightly and yawned loudly.

      “Oh… ow….”

      “Take care, my dear.  Lay quietly and I will get your medication and a glass of water.”

Smiling at the fact that his side of the bed was scarcely even warm, Mycroft rose again to retrieve the container of pills and a small glass of water, which he helped prop up Greg to drink so a dribbling disaster didn’t occur.

      “Thanks, love.  Wasn’t so long ago I was doing this for you.”

      “Quite true and I am happy to return the favor.  How do you feel this morning, Gregory?  May I have a small peek?”

Greg smiled and lifted his injured arm for Mycroft to pull back the bandages and look at what good a night’s rest had done for the wounds.

      “I see no problems or complications of note; John will be most pleased.”

      “I’m going to live?”

      “For a short while only.  Upon your inevitable tragic passing, I shall find an animal shelter in need of support and donate your body for the various cats and dogs to consume.  Fresh meat is a highly important component of their diets and something woefully lacking in commercially-prepared pet food, or so I am told.”

      “I’d like that.  Give the poor things a good meal to repay nature for my particularly insulting existence.”

      “Then it is settled.  I shall be here today and, most likely, tomorrow so I can enact this final testament in the most respectful manner possible.  Sebastian will also be in residence this afternoon, though, he indicated he had some matters to tend to this morning.”

      “He looked in a little bit ago, before you crept in here and tried to convince me that you’d seen even a wink of sleep during the night.”

Mycroft slightly ‘oh dear’ sigh made Greg laugh and add a large +1 to his mental score sheet.

      “I do apologize, Gregory.  There was much to do and it was better done sooner than later.”

      “I understand.  I’m mostly concerned that you didn’t get to rest.”

      “Something with which I am exceedingly familiar.  I shall take pains, however, to see tonight pass in an entirely different fashion.”

      “Keeping my manly body warm and happy?”

      “That aligns nicely with my thinking, yes.”

      “Then I’ll get out of bed now, so I don’t make a new mattress necessary before that happens.”

      “Do you require assistance?”

      “I can piss one-handed, thank you.”

      “Another talent to add to your ledger.”

      “I’m a marvel.  Now, why don’t you stop pretending to sleep and get my crisps.”

      “Might you actually eat breakfast first?”

      “Crisps are perfectly acceptable breakfast food.  And coffee.”

      “May I suggest that I craft for you a nourishing and filling breakfast, for which both of those play some degree of role?”

      “I suppose that’s fine.  _Starring_ roles, though.”

      “I shall discuss matters with their talent representatives and see what might be negotiated.”

Helping Greg rise from bed and reading all signs of health, Mycroft decided his lover was capable of his own negotiations, specifically with the loo and the clothes closet, which would be beneficial to his Gregory’s mood for the day.  Quickly changing into his own fresh garments while Greg tended to personal matters and, from the sound of things, started a shower, Mycroft made his way downstairs to the kitchen to begin breakfast, humming curiously when his mobile sounded with a ringtone he didn’t recognize.

      “Mycroft Holmes.”

      “Hmmm… your voice doesn’t sound like I expected it to.  Not as papery and mummified.  Almost as if you’re living.  Surprise, surprise…”

Somehow, Mycroft knew exactly to whom he was speaking and set aside all thoughts of breakfast for the moment.

      “Jim Moriarty, I presume.”

      “Yes… I was surprised to get Sebastian’s message.  Very surprised…  You want to talk to me, Mr. Holmes.  Why is that?”

The unique tone of Moriarty’s voice intrigued Mycroft greatly but the time to ponder that was not now.

      “The simplest of reasons.  Information.”

      “Information isn’t simple.  People are simple.  Very, very simple… but not information.  And I don’t have any information for you, Mr. Homes.  No information at all.”

      “Perhaps, but I would discuss the matter further with you.  If you wish, I shall make it well worth your time.”

      “Oh, will you?  Money?”

      “If that is what you desire.  Though… I suspect it is not.”

      “Good.  Very good.  We can talk about that, you and I.  Tomorrow night.  I’ll text a time and address and you’ll be there.  Wearing red.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Until tomorrow, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft didn’t need to check to know the call had been terminated and made a perfunctory trace, knowing, also, that it would not lead anywhere useful.  But, ultimately, that was of little consequence.  Moriarty was willing to meet with him and, though that could signify a number of things, it was, at the very least, a chance to gain the information he sought.

Now, all he had to do was make an excuse to be away from the house tomorrow night and hope that Moriarty chose to meet somewhere close and easily accessible.  The man had a dramatic streak, from what little was known, and a conversation at the top of the Eiffel Tower was not entirely out of bounds given the circumstances.  Oh well, should that come to pass, he could return with some lovely nibbles for dear Gregory.  He knew a bevy of delightful shops and they would happily have their doors open for him, regardless of the hour…


	34. Chapter 34

      “Crisps!”

A full, heathy breakfast greeted Greg when he walked into the kitchen, beside which was an unopened bag of crisps sitting perfectly parallel to the table edge in Mycroft’s personal nod to geometry.

      “I did promise you, my dear.  And the coffee is prepared, awaiting your cup.”

      “You’re perfect, love.  Absotively perfect.”

      “Oh dear… your medication has impeded your mental access to correct vocabulary.”

      “Fake words are fun!  And you know you’ve used your share.  Actually, I suspect half the words you use are fake since I have no idea what they mean, though they do slide smoothly off your tongue.”

And making the acquaintance of Mycroft’s tongue was a high priority item on Lestrange’s agenda, which he started on with a long, slow kiss of thanks for his breakfast of champions.

      “Alas, my secret has been revealed.  I concoct a lexicon of meaningless terms to befuddle and bamboozle.”

      “And I’m in awe of your bamboozlery, which I will toast just as soon as… oh.  Could you pour my coffee?”

Given his Gregory’s injured dominant hand, Mycroft realized that quite a number of things were going to be difficult for a few days and started making mental notes on how to make life easier for his partner.

      “Nothing would please me more.”

      “You two talking about sex?”

The assassin might be tall, young, fit and vicious, but his reputation would rapidly spiral downward were the public to be shown a snap of him unshaven, with uncombed hair, wearing shorts and slippers as unattractive as his father’s robe of mayhem.

      “Yes, but you are _not_ taking notes, you evil son.  Mycroft’s pro-quality sex tricks are only for me to enjoy.”

      “Really, Dad?  Before breakfast?  How am I supposed to…”

Sebastian snatched the bag of crisps off the table and held them high over his head so Greg’s leaping had no chance of success.

      “… eat all your crisps if my stomach is bleeding from knife-wielding nausea.”

With Sebastian distracted and his ribcage foolishly exposed, Mycroft affected a savage poke maneuver, that, in short order, prompted a startled squawk, a lowering of arms to guard against further assault, and the quick snatching back of the crisps bag by Greg.  If there was a better example of teamwork in existence, Mycroft was sure he had never witnessed it.

      “Victory!”

      “Your swiftness of grab was inspiring, my dear.”

      “I hate you both and hope you get hemorrhoids”

      “Have coffee, son.  It’s good for soothing the pain of defeat.”

This obscene-gesture exchange was a little slower in pace than previous ones, but the slowness was made up for by the increased levels of blinding indecency.

      “Gregory, Sebastian… sit.  Sit and eat.  I shall pour the coffee and further my generosity by offering to, for you Sebastian, prepare your breakfast, and, for you Gregory, opening your crisps.’

      “That’s fair.  Thank you, love.  Seb?”

      “Fair enough.  Thank you, love.”

The assassin smiled widely and sat in front of Greg’s prepared plate, beginning to eat with gusto, which made Greg’s eyes roll, but, since that plate had been cooling and Mycroft was readying to make a fresh portion, he’d take his benefits and enjoy them.

      “We’ve adopted a dog, Mycroft.  Sneaks up to the table and drags down what it can find.”

      “Can I be one of those wolfhounds?  They’re big and I bet they shed like bastards, which would be fun with this fine house of yours.”

Mycroft shook his head, but did harbor some small hope that his Gregory did not have it in mind to actually bring a pet into the home.  Shedding and… soiling… the thought was soul-deadening.

      “Wolfhounds, Sebastian, are also known for their kind and gentle temperament, so that choice is rather ill-applied in your case.”

      “Shit.  Good point, Dad’s boyfriend.  But, I’ve got breakfast, so I won’t shoot you to overcome my disappointment.”

      “You still certain you want me living here, Mycroft?  This one is part of the package and even _I_ have to admit it makes the package one that would give any sane person pause before accepting.”

Mycroft simply opened Greg’s crisps, set them in his lover’s lap and patted Greg’s head tenderly.  They _both_ had scorpions in their package, extending their claws for cash while plunging in the sting when their demands were met.  Yet one more reason they were perfectly matched.

      “Alright, Mr. Wolfhound, after you’ve filled your gullet, what do you have planned for the day?”

While Greg was merrily taking a handful of crisps as a starter before the breakfast course, he missed the look Sebastian subtly shot in Mycroft’s direction.

      “I saw that, you know.”

Or may he didn’t.

      “Eat your crisps, you old buggerer.”

      “I will and while I do you’ll tell me why you shot a super-sneaky look at Mycroft.  Who started to shake his head in response, but stopped when I called out your super-sneakiness.”

      “You’re daft.”

      “Negatismo!”

      “Oh my god.  Mycroft… call the men in the white coats.”

      “Gregory, you are unduly stressing yourself over the most minor of matters.”

      “So, you admit there _is_ a matter and Seb’s not just eye-flirting with you.”

At least _affect_ a stupid persona at times, my dear, if only to give me respite from battling your cleverness.

      “I admit…”

      “Pausing means guilty.”

      “Does it?  Well, I shall see that added to the legal code.  I suspect justice will be met far more swiftly and efficiently if the proverbial gavel might be banged upon an extended breath taken by the defendant.”

      “Tell me what’s going on, both of you, or I’m having a ukulele delivered and I’ll play it in my gorgeous robe with some of those finger cymbals strapped to my toes.  All day.”

      “That’s a serious threat, Mycroft.  Dad is ten flavors of stubborn swirled in single bowl with a cherry of looniness dropped on the top.  We can’t add a creamy dollop of irritation to that unholy mix.  We just can’t.  I’d die and I’m too young and handsome to die now.”

Mycroft diverted the new measure of toast towards Sebastian, who seemed somewhat in need of more nourishment and decided that disclosure was the prudent route at the moment.

      “Very well.  Sebastian was seeking some input from me so he might finalize his own plans for the day.  We, that is I, have been in wait of information concerning your situation and the timeframe for acting on it was not yet known.”

      “That’s a lot of past tense, so I assume you _now_ have something to share.”

This time it was Mycroft looking at Sebastian who did everything to make telepathic contact so Mycroft’s mind could hear his own actively screaming not to reveal more than was necessary.

      “I did, in point of fact and, tomorrow evening, I will have a small meeting to discuss your issue with an individual perhaps having some knowledge of the events and persons involved.  The only thing I now await is the location of our meeting.”

Greg’s eyes widened and he set his crisps bag on the table so his focus was entirely on his lover.

      “Is it safe?”

Refusing to allow his eyes to move even a fraction of a millimeter towards Sebastian, Mycroft smiled gently and hoped his partner’s observational powers did not extend towards noticing variations in heartbeat.

      “There is no reason to think otherwise.  I normally prefer such things be conducted in my office, however, I also knew very well that not everyone finds such a situation comfortable.  It is not at all uncommon that I take meetings in non-professional locations, so this in no manner rouses my suspicions.”

      “Seb?  What do you think?”

Luckily, there was a forkful of eggs just placed in his mouth as it bought Sebastian a chance steel himself to give a believable answer to his father.  He _hated_ lying to his dad, but he wasn’t about to admit that the person Mycroft was going to meet was a dangerous and chaotic piece of work, who bored easily and had taste for fun and games that could have Mycroft walking into a room containing a piranha pool, laser beams and flowing streams of lava.

      “I don’t know.  Depends on who Mycroft’s meeting and where they meet, I suppose.  But, it’s true that meetings and such don’t always happen in nice offices.  Parks, restaurants, cinemas… if that’s what’s bothering you, Dad, then I wouldn’t worry.”

That was not _nearly_ all that was bothering Greg, given the events of last night and the fact that his Mycroft had already been SHOT once, but… Seb wasn’t making a fuss… he wasn’t telling the whole truth, that much was evident, but neither was Mycroft and that said there was _some_ measure of concern to take into consideration.  But, in case it _did_ turn out to be significant… 

      “Seb, why don’t you go with Mycroft.  Carry a few of your special babies in case things don’t go the way we might hope.”

That suggestion froze Mycroft and Sebastian for a second because the rather intricate situation was… intricate… and Sebastian’s presence ensured he would be interrogated by his father when they returned, something both the assassin and Mycroft knew might not end terribly well, as the one small lie told this morning had visibly drained all of Sebastian’s lying-to-family reservoirs.

      “Ummm… Mycroft and I’ll talk about that when he knows more.”

      “Is what you two are trying to hide something truly dangerous or something I’ll worry about even if the danger is pretty minimal?”

Both Mycroft and Sebastian mulled the adding of a sedative to Greg’s pain medication so today and tomorrow proceeded smoothly, but, given Greg’s rather flamboyant response to such things, they quickly put that idea back on the shelf.

      “The latter, my dear.  This is a normal thing for me and, likely, Sebastian, but we both recognize that it might be troubling to you.  Rather… cloak and daggerish, when I assure you that the most common danger is that one is required to consume something truly ghastly from a cart or substandard purveyor of mass-produced cuisine.”

      “Seb?”

      “He’s right, Dad.  Just… relax.”

      “Can’t.  My bacon’s burning.”

Mycroft swore and turned to try and save his lover’s breakfast, hoping Greg’s flippancy signaled a calming of the mind.  In time, Gregory would find such things to be a matter of course, but this particular situation would be notably bothersome due to the intensely personal connection and the newness of their relationship.  However, he was not so foolish to believe that his lover would ever entirely lose his worry and looked forward to some notably tense arguments in their future.

      “You don’t need bacon anyway, Dad.  You’re getting fat and you’re not going to sell a lot of copies of your films if your belly is hanging down hiding your cock.”

      “Hmmm… you do have a point.  But, I have an exercise room so fuck off with your point and, Mycroft, double my bacon, if you please.  Got to keep my strength up anyway to heal my mortal wounds and bacon is as strengthening a foodstuff as any there is.”

Smiling happily, Greg chose to let this be the end of the previous conversation, though, if it needed to be taken up again later, he reserved the right to do it.  Yes, he was the odd man out here, in terms of all that cloak and dagger business, but… he loved these two bastards and that gave him full permission to worry and express it however and whenever he’d like.  Loudly, too.  Threats and weapons might be involved, if necessary.  Toe cymbals were not _nearly_ the most potent tool in his arsenal… not by a long shot…

__________

The rest of the day passed quietly and, with John’s verification that Greg was not at death’s door, the evening arrived with the injured party sitting cozily on the sofa watching a film next to the person who had won the coin toss to choose the film and was now having his contentment disturbed by a familiar and anticipated ringtone sounding on his mobile.

      “One moment, my dear.  A small matter of work.”

Pointedly not noticing Greg’s narrowed, suspicious eyes, Mycroft rose from the sofa and stepped into his study before answering.

      “Mr. Moriarty, I have been expecting your call.”

      “Shivering with antici………………………………………………………………………………….pation?”

      “Pardon?”

      “Oh yes, forgot you were boring.”

      “One of my more endearing traits.  I take it you have the location of our meeting?”

      “Yes… the lovely little… I mean ugly cavernous building where you vetted your brother’s playmate.”

A very cold wind blew through Mycroft’s study and it tinged Mycroft’s heart with small whorls of frost.

      “Might I ask how you come to know about that particular incident?”

      “No… let’s just say I’ve taken an interest in you, Mr. Holmes.  It won’t last, it never does, but you offer at least the tiniest bit of interest at the moment and the mysterious man with the suit and umbrella act… that was amusing.”

Cool and calm… and keep the focus on yourself and not Sherlock or John.

      “I am gladdened my amateur theatrics provided a soupcon of entertainment for you.  I have no talent for juggling or ballet, but if you desire a stroll through one of London’s fine galleries, I shall happily showcase my skill for art history and weave any number of scintillating stories of the pieces and the artists that produced them.  I might even pantomime some of the more invigorating tales.”

      “If you hope to murder me with tedium, Mr. Holmes, you are succeeding.  And that won’t get you what you want, now will it?”

No, it would not.  Nor would provoking Moriarty’s annoyance to the point he simply changed his mind, something which seemed exceedingly easy to do.

      “No, but I did not wish my record to appear entirely without a mark in the positives column.  Now, if you will provide me the time you wish to meet…”

      “Tonight.  I’ll give you an hour, due to traffic and wardrobe concerns, but a minute longer or if you don’t come alone… I won’t be happy.”

The sing-song quality of the last phrase was a fitting end to the call which was terminated before Mycroft could make any response.  Damnation!  He should have predicted this… Moriarty liked his games and, further, liked a sense of control.  Well, there was nothing for it but to move quickly because, factoring in time to address any questions his Gregory would have about the lie he was preparing to tell, change his clothing and make it to the meeting point, an hour was a very lean amount of time, indeed…

__________

      “Now?”

      “I am sorry, my dear, however, international, shall we call them, tussles do not acknowledge either my blissful relaxation or my time zone.  It is my hope that I _shall_ see this sorted quickly, but I will not guarantee the time of return so you are disappointed when I fail to arrive at the appointed hour.”

      “Bollocks.”

      “Their disappointment is something I am also hoping to avoid.”

Greg’s laughter scaled back Mycroft’s concern over an extended discussion and he continued to smile affably as he made his way towards the door.  Sebastian was here, reading in the library, so Gregory would not be alone and unprotected should this be some form of diversion for another intrusion and, hopefully, his conversation with Moriarty _would_ be an abbreviated one.  His lover was hopeful for a second film and, given his own imminent return to work, nights like these would become more and more uncommon.  Must enjoy each and every one while he could…

__________

Yes, just as… _atmospheric_ … as it always was.  Certain locations had value beyond their business-day purpose and this was a valuable asset in his locale portfolio.

      “I said red, Mr. Holmes… tsk tsk tsk… not following orders…”

      “Red is a color fit for circus and burlesque performers, of which I am neither.”

      “I don’t like being disobeyed, Mr. Holmes.”

      “And it is not in the hierarchy of my employ that I am inclined to obey _any_ of your commands, however, in the spirit of cooperation…”

Mycroft lifted the leg of his trousers and smirked at Moriarty’s grudging nod of approval.

      “Red socks.  Maybe not so boring as I assumed.  Or you don’t like being told what to do but didn’t want to jeopardize your chances here.  What do you really want, Mr. Holmes?  Marcus Drake was a fly.  Flies are swatted.  Boring, boring, boring.  Why do you even care?”

      “The man was a notable figure in the global arms trade.  That, alone, is enough to warrant my attention.”

      “One fly among many, circling this damp, heavy, smelly planet.  Swat one, there are a hundred more still feasting on the pile.”

      “I would place Drake more as a… mosquito than a fly.  Still numerous, I concede, but far more bothersome and more active in spreading any manner of pestilence.”

      “Wait… there it is… about to land… a little more… swat.  Swat and flick and there he goes.”

      “And do enjoy your malaria.  Now, insect imagery aside, I _do_ wish to know the circumstances behind Drake’s murder and the subsequent attempts on the life of one Mr. Gerard Lestrange.”

      “The porn king.  A filthy profession, though, I have to admit, he does have some talent for the filth.”

      “Meaning you have viewed his performances.”

      “Curiosity.  It gets the better of me, at times.”

      “Then you understand my own curiosity at the continued attempts on his life.  An actor, in the adult entertainment industry, poses no threat to anyone, yet great effort has been expended to bring about his demise.”

      “People are stupid creatures.”

      “I will not disagree, however, I fail to see the relevance.”

      “Stupid creatures do stupid things.  Make stupid decisions.  Become fixated on stupid people and stupid mistakes.”

So, not a particularly sensical or vital reason.  Stupid people and stupid mistakes…

      “Lestrange is being targeted simply because he is a loose end?  To satisfy what?  Ego?  That seems rather farfetched.”

      “Not to someone who is _very_ stupid.  And _very_ paranoid.”

      “I see.  And does this someone have a name?”

      “Probably.  Most people do.”

      “Amusing.  However, a touch more detail would be greatly appreciated.”

      “This is bor-or-oring.  I knew it would be, but I didn’t think it would happen this quickly.”

      “Then let us see our business swiftly ended.  Provide me the name of the person who targeted Drake and, also, Mr. Lestrange and you are free to make full use of whatever London offers to assuage your boredom.”

      “Do they still have public executions?”

      “How droll.  A name, Mr. Moriarty.”

Which Mycroft had some confidence might be forthcoming since, despite his juvenility, Moriarty was being surprisingly cooperative.  He had assumed getting the villain to admit to _any_ knowledge whatsoever would be an excruciatingly onerous task, but that certainly was not the case.

      “That would spoil what little fun there might be left to have.”

      “Very well… let us extend our time together so you might wring all possible entertainment from our conversation.  Say… narrate your personal involvement in Drake’s murder.  I would consider that a stellar opportunity for fun.”

      “Moi?  Why would _I_ be involved?”

      “You like to fix things, Mr. Moriarty.  That _is_ your specialty, is it not?  I can easily envision you being approached to fix the problem of Marcus Drake and his continued grip on life, which might not be a simple thing to break and requiring a very skilled hand to accomplish.”

      “Hmmm… that _is_ true.  My hands are both uniquely and supremely skilled.”

      “Then you admit your involvement.”

Jim’s grin said he knew very well he’d shown his hand, had intended that, and might be finding some fun in their conversation again.

      “No, I didn’t.  But, I suppose I can’t claim my due applause if I don’t, so… it was me!”

      “You planned Drake’s assassination.”

      “Yes, though my absolutely perfect plan was carried out by _people_ , so… stupidity sent things somewhat awry.”

      “Please, do deride the stupidity at great length.”

      “I do like doing that.  Fine… oh Jim, Marcus is so shortsighted.  He has no real vision.  If he was out of the way… money, power, sex… it would all rain from the sky like… well, like rain, actually.”

      “And you undertook to seed the proverbial clouds.”

      “Nothing better to do that week, so… Marcus had a weakness and it was his undoing.  All that had to be done was see he actually went to the hotel you were guiding him towards… yes, I knew about your involvement, Mr. Holmes.  It wasn’t bad work, actually, and it did make matters easier for me.”

And yet another few sets of eyes would be assigned to Moriarty and his machinations.

      “It was a flawless thing, really.  One special present arrives, the sort Drake wouldn’t refuse, guards go off to play and voila!  One dead arms dealer.”

      “And one dead present.  Mr. Lestrange said he was asked for by name.  Was that part of your flawless plan?”

      “He was old, sad… not one to turn down a job, now was he?”

The shadow that broke away from the rest of the darkness told Mycroft his sense of being watched was not at all incorrect.

      “ _You_ sent Dad to the hotel?”

Jim’s ‘oh shite’ face would have been cute if Mycroft wasn’t noticing the impressive size of the gun in Sebastian’s hand.

      “Tiger!  We weren’t supposed to see each other until tomorrow.”

      “You set up my father.”

      “I… no.  In the sense that yes, I did, but… no.”

      “ _You_ tried to have Dad killed.”

The fact that Moriarty looked to him for help was something Mycroft found profoundly ludicrous, but, also, highly amusing.

      “You were the one who told me, Tiger… went on and on and on, actually… about how smart he was, how clever, things like that.  This was the easiest way, but… any random bit of meat might not tempt Drake into one of his… private parties.  He watched those horridly tacky films, so someone in that line of work had a higher probability of success.”

Moran raised his gun and pointed it at Moriarty’s head, wearing an expression that terrifyingly blended betrayal and rage, something Mycroft couldn’t allow to bring an abrupt end to his interrogation.

      “Sebastian…”

      “Fuck off, Mycroft.  You know the rules.  Anyone hurts Dad, they die.”

      “Sebby!  You can’t kill me… I’m the only one who knows that one spot on your upper thigh that…”

The imperceptible shift in Moran’s expression that hardened his face like stone had Moriarty sighing and stamping a foot in petulant frustration.

      “You can’t kill me over someone old and boring!”

      “If you’re telling me to choose between you and Dad, Jim, you’ll get your answer screaming through your brain at very high velocity.”

      “Do you _know_ much I spent at the hair stylist yesterday?”

If there was a chair nearby, Mycroft would have had a seat to more comfortably watch the show.  Many an independent filmmaker had tried for this level of surrealism and not come within a continent of being as successful.

      “Not funny, Jim.  Goodbye.”

The finality in the assassin’s voice was as heavy as a gravestone and Mycroft saw the first flicker of real fear behind Moriarty’s dark eyes.

      “WAIT!  I chose him for a reason!”

Sebastian narrowed his gaze and made the tiniest of motions with his gun for Jim to continue.

      “Someone in porn had the greatest likelihood of gaining entrance to Drake’s suite, but if I had someone else hired, they _would_ be very dead and probably a friend of your precious dad and he’d boo-hoo, so you’d yell at me and you’re so LOUD when you yell…”

      “You’re trying to convince me that you hired dad because I’d nag you otherwise?”

      “No, Jim, you can’t set the explosives timer for noon because the building is full of people.  Set it late at night when only the target is there.  It’s a playground, Jim, you can’t have the infected body dropped there.  What if a kid touches it!  No, you can’t crash the plane because they let that man in a wheelchair board ahead of you.  Nag, nag, nag…”

      “I do _not_ sound that testy.”

      “You do!  Besides… I had Derek Drake pick the shooters and he makes buffoons look like geniuses… I knew they’d be slow and sloppy and if your sainted father was as clever and canny as you claimed, he would have plenty of time to get out of the line of fire, especially in the fortress Marcus was settled in.”

Confirming, for Mycroft, that the brother _was_ behind the shooting.  With that done, Sebastian was perfectly cleared to kill the awful man, so they could return home and easily have time to enjoy a relaxing evening of film.

      “Too risky.  You still die.”

Moriarty’s rude noise sounded much like one Sherlock would make when he was being his most infantile and Mycroft mentally urged Sebastian to simply pull the trigger and be done with it so there was no possibility of another infant in the Lestrange-Holmes’s already overflowing pram.

      “It worked, didn’t it!  Only one body taken out of the hotel to the morgue, not two.”

      “Because of luck!”

      “Because your old, pitiful father was exactly as quick and clever as you said he was!”

      “And the roof?  The shooter on the roof of the hotel?”

      “There… I may have made a _teensy_ mistake.”

Attempting to make himself as adorable as possible, Jim stuck his hands in his pocket and smiled ingratiatingly at Sebastian who made a growling sound deep in his throat that Mycroft could hear from where he was standing.

      “Do go on, Mr. Moriarty.”

The ‘now you step in’ look Jim threw Mycroft was waved off aloofly as Mycroft recognized the shift in tone of the meeting was a permanent one and treading lightly was no longer a concern.

      “I may have _slightly_ underestimated Derek Drake’s ego.  He’s cripplingly dull and boring and horrible and stupid and there shouldn’t be any ego at all hiding in all that blahness.  But there really is.”

A combination of qualities that was not entirely unknown to Mycroft, having once or twice underestimated the size and aggressiveness of the offense taken by a dreary individual who felt they had been slighted.

      “That there was a survivor rankled his sense of self.”

      “AND he became convinced that _everyone_ would laugh at him, which they do anyway, but he’s just so stupid he never notices.  He put his bodyguard on the roof not even thinking that a muscleboy who stands about all day like a tree probably doesn’t know which end of a gun the bullets come out of.  That he hit anything besides air is miraculous.”

Given their driver that night suffered no permanent impairment from his wound, Mycroft chose not to pursue the matter further, but added the additional example of callousness to Moriarty’s bulging portfolio.

      “The cemetery?”

      “That was a present for Sebastian!  Luukas isn’t half the sniper Sebby is and this added proof to the pudding.  He’s not going to get that Ukrainian job _you_ wanted now, is he Tiger?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes that the assassin actually smiled and inwardly moaned that he was officially the only adult in the room.

      “Koskinen’s shot _would_ have hit its target if Gregory had not moved his position.  And, I do not appreciate giving _my_ life’s blood to secure for Sebastian a potential payday.”

      “Can you _not_ be boring?  Is it possible?”

      “Mycroft’s got a point, Boss.  That _was_ too close.  Do it again and your twinkly smile isn’t going to save you.”

Implying, to Mycroft, the man’s twinkly smile _had_ saved him this time.  Or, rather, Sebastian credited, to some degree, Moriarty’s attempts at planning matters to keep Gregory as safe as possible.  It was an unlikely concession, and miniscule in the extreme, but one that demonstrated at least a modicum of… emotion?  Strange as it was, there did seem to be a connection between the two that went beyond the purely sexual, and, perhaps, this _was_ a display of Moriarty’s rather twisted sense of affection.  Well, that would form the kernel of an enormously-uncomfortable conversation with Sebastian about relationships and ensuring they ran along a mutually-rewarding path.

      “Do I have to promise?  You know I _hate_ promises.”

      “I think you do.  Promise me you will never, not ever, not for any reason, involve my dad in anything, no matter how minor it might seem or what it might gain you or a client.”

      “I have to promise all of that?  How about we make a deal?”

      “Nope.  You’ll give me your word for every bit and I’m going to throw Mycroft’s immunity in, too, because you were a bastard and tried to bargain with Dad’s life and because Mycroft’s already been shot once and he’s too old and out of shape to survive so much as a paper cut, let alone another bullet.”

Still the only official adult in the room, but Moriarty’s peevish sighing and turning in circles at least preceded the news Mycroft was hoping to hear.

      “If I simply have to, then I have to.  But I want, at the very least, three new ties for my pain.”

      “We can have a shopping trip tomorrow.”

      “And, I shall provide funds for your own pair of exquisite socks if you reveal how Derek Drake came to know Gregory was residing in my home.”

      “I told him.”

      “BOSS!”

The gun was raised again and Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the impending headache.

      “What!  The clod Drake sent wouldn’t have succeeded in anything but shooting his own foot off!”

      “He shot Dad!”

      “He did?  Oh… sorry?”

      “For what possible reason, Moriarty, did you believe that a prudent decision?”

      “The dead reason.  Which the clod is, so… you can thank me.”

      “Oh, dear heavens…”

      “If your lot didn’t kill him, Mr. Holmes, Drake _would_ have at some point.  Potato, potahto…”

      “Dad got hurt, Jim.  Cut his hand, nastily too, and that’s on you.”

      “I’ll send him a card.”

A large-caliber shot rang out in the highly-echoing space, which had Moriarty shrieking and staring open-mouthed at Sebastian while Mycroft began to daydream fondly of a large scotch.

      “OW!”

      “You ever do one thing, Boss, one single thing to endanger my family and you won’t need to worry about hearing loss.  Because you’ll be dead.  Just like Derek Drake.  So, as soon as you tell me where he’s hiding, I’ll tend to his tragic end and we can see what new cocktails that little club you like is making this month.”

Moriarty slowly slid his eyes towards Mycroft and smiled a smile that grew in smugness as Mycroft’s annoyance rose higher and higher.

      “I believe, Sebastian, that will not be possible.”

      “Want to tell me why not, Dad’s could-soon-be-dead boyfriend?”

      “My-y-croft is thinking, My-y-croft is thinking…”

Playground tune aside, Mycroft couldn’t deny Jim’s observation, though the look on Sebastian’s face said it would be much healthier if he did.

      “Individuals who are ego-driven, subject to paranoid fears, concerned with image and status… their switches and levers are easily controlled.”

      “You want to use him.”

      “We wanted to use Marcus.  His brother would serve the same purpose, likely, far more successfully.  It is entirely possible to keep Derek Drake distracted with the various trappings of wealth and acclaim that he would leave the actual running of the business to someone else.”

      “Someone My-y-croft might already have embedded in their organization.”

      “Fuck me… you’d sell Dad’s life for one of your fucking plans!”

      “Sebastian…”

      “They won’t stop trying!  If Derek Drake is as loony as Jim says, he won’t stop trying to kill Dad!”

      “I agree that may be true.  However…”

      “No.  There’s no however.  Not for this.”

      “Sebastian… the potential here to quell a rather substantial number of destabilizing events worldwide is considerable.  Governing the flow of weapons by the most influential arms-distributing group… it is not a thing I can leave unconsidered.”

      “It’s not worth Dad’s life!”

      “It… could be…”

      “You fucking…”

      “…if it was ended by us.”

Sebastian blinked sharply and let Mycroft’s words rattle about his brain while Jim moved further out of the line of fire.

      “You want to fake his death.”

      “Want… no.  However, given the continued threat to Gregory’s safety, the options are to allow that safety to be compromised and do what is possible to protect him or… remove him from harm’s way.”

      “You want to throw away his life, his career, for one of your schemes!”

      “I can offer Gregory a life nearly identical to the one he currently possesses.  You have said he has few friends, so that is not a worry.  Once the threat to his life is neutralized, he may go freely about the city, albeit with a touch, perhaps, of cosmetic surgery to make the most minor of adjustments so he no longer matches exactly his photographic image.  Gregory was already contemplating retirement, so his career was in what is termed its golden years.  He could not be Gerard Lestrange, but he could have a full, rich, happy life, nonetheless.”

      “And Mycroft here wouldn’t have to explain having a porn star for a lover.”

Mycroft debated removing his own firearm from its resting place and ridding the world of a particularly troublesome pest, then decided against it as Sebastian would likely shoot _him_ , if only out of spite.

      “Yeah… Jim’s right.  That _would_ be a good outcome for you, wouldn’t it, Mycroft.  No worries about introducing your lover to your government friends as the reigning monarch of the porn industry.  That probably wouldn’t do your own reputation a world of good, let alone your career.”

The sourness on Mycroft’s tongue was vile, indeed, but mostly because he _had_ given some thought to this very thing and, to his shame, had not completely reconciled himself to the possible fallout of their relationship coming to light.  He loved Gregory with all his heart, but he could not ignore the potential impact to his career and the larger ramifications should that career burn to ashes.

      “I will not lie and say I have never had that line of reasoning cross my mind, however, I, also, have not allowed it to stand in my way of expressing my feelings for your father and crafting certain contingencies for a variety of social and professional outcomes.  It is not, however, driving my argument at this time.”

Sebastian snorted his disbelief and snarled at Mycroft who was happy the assassin had, at least, kept his gun lowered during the conversation.

      “Why not this - I kill Drake and you put your man in his place.”

Something Mycroft had considered during his running mental analysis of their discussion and, unfortunately, cast aside.

      “Two Drake brothers murdered… the, shall we say, brand value of their operation would fall, and the individual assuming control would be viewed with suspicion by others in the trade.  One assassination is good business.  Two, especially separated in time, seems reckless and non-strategic and onducted by an individual who might as easily do the same for others during, say, a business negotiation.”

      “But it’s not an impossible option.”

      “Not impossible, though…”

      “Especially if Jim backed it.”

The loud squawk from the man who had been studying the state of his manicure matched well with Mycroft’s surprise-widened eyes.

      “Pardon?”

      “It’d seem strategic if Jim said it was.  Said it was planned, part of one of his own schemes that had been set in motion a long time ago.  That _would_ look strategic and considered and not at all reckless.”

      “I’m not helping him!”

      “Hush, Boss.  Go back to your nails.”

      “Sebastian… while I will grant that is a creative and serviceable idea, it adds unnecessary complexity to the situation and…”

      “And having Dad give up his life doesn’t!”

      “Sebastian, I recognize your desire to protect your father…”

      “Which should be _your_ fucking desire, you miserable prick!”

      “It _is_ my desire.  It is my dearly- and tightly-held desire, however, I have no choice but to consider the wider picture.  Derek Drake could be a very useful distraction from our own workings, something that would be less well-concealed, perhaps, if he was not in the picture.”

      “Perhaps… but not for certain.”

Now it was Mycroft looking to Jim for help and felt no surprise that he was met by a happy grin and flick of something imaginary from under one of Moriarty’s nails.

      “I will not offer argument.”

Sebastian stood there looking at Mycroft and let the events of the last few minutes run through his mind.  And the events of the last few days.  Mycroft loved his father, there was no doubting that.  Further, Mycroft treated his father with affection and, most importantly, respect.  If Mycroft was standing there saying one path was better than another and that path wasn’t necessarily a good one for Dad… he had to have a good reason for saying it.  A _very_ good reason.  Shit.

      “It’s Dad’s choice.  He hears all the facts, all the repercussions for him and _he_ decides.  He says fuck no and I get to put a bullet in Drake’s brain.  He says yes, then… I don’t try and change his mind.  It’s his life and he has final say over it.  That’s my deal.  Take it or leave it.”

Mycroft took a moment, more to pretend he was considering the offer than to truly _consider_ the offer because… Sebastian was correct.  He had no right to impose a fate on Gregory that Gregory did not choose.  It was not his place and, further, not the act of a man of honor.  True, he was often called to do flagrantly dishonorable things as part of his work, but here there was, as Sebastian pointed out, a second option.  It was not optimal, would not, in all likelihood be as valuable as his first selection, but… it _did_ exist.  And Gregory should be the one to make the decision as to which of the options would ultimately go forward.

      “Very well.  Though I will add a codicil to our agreement.  I will speak to your father about this alone.”

      “Are you joking?  No.  Dad needs to hear both sides.”

      “And he will, on that I will give you my oath.  You are right, Sebastian, that Gregory’s life is not a bargaining chip on my gaming table and the situation is not one for which I must take the step to compel this fate upon him.  I will present both sides, equally and fairly, and will abide by Gregory’s decision.”

      “Oh, just say yes, Tiger.  I’m tired of standing here and I’m bored and if I have to find something to change those things, your father’s future name isn’t going to be your and Mycroft’s biggest concerns.”

Knowing that Jim’s threat was only half sincere was still enough to make Sebastian give Mycroft a nod and holster his firearm.

      “Alright, Mycroft.  I can agree to your terms.  You going to talk to him tonight?”

      “Is there a reason to avoid it?”

      “The lie you told him about going to your office for some international event is a fairly good one.”

Drat.  Yes, there was that.

      “Then, I shall wait until tomorrow night, after affecting a small absence to coincide with the expected time of mine and Jim’s meeting.”

      “Ok… Boss, you staying at the usual hotel?”

      “Of course.  They worship me there, as is proper.”

Sebastian’s grin contrasted with Mycroft’s ‘this one and Sherlock can _never_ meet’ pained sigh and provided a good signal for the end of the meeting.

      “Alright… I told Dad I was running out for Greek food and a bottle of especially nice ouzo, so I’ll get that and go home.  Tomorrow, Boss, you and me… shopping?”

      “Don’t forget my socks money from Mycroft.”

      “I’ve got his bank card, so you can have lots of socks.”

      “WHAT!”

      “Then I accept.  Tomorrow, Tiger.  Mycroft… ta ta for now…”

Moriarty sauntered away into the shadows while Sebastian admired his arse and Mycroft made mental note to immediately check his bank card activity and impose a draconian limit on the one Sebastian was using.  Socks were one thing, but Moriarty would certainly try and parlay that into an entire wardrobe.  The man wore very admirable suits, but he could pay for his own trips to Vivienne Westwood…

      “Sebastian… the man is insane.”

      “Probably.  But he’s not dull.”

      “A rattlesnake, also, is not dull.”

      “They are, actually.  Sit there forever and ever and only move to shadier spots or when there’s prey about.”

      “I stand corrected.  We will… we shall have a talk, you and I, about the situation once we have settled your father’s problem.”

      “Oh joy, I can’t wait.”

      “I shall prepare notes and provide you with a written copy before my lecture.  Now… I do have a few matters to tend to and that should round out a body of time suitable to satisfy my story for tonight’s absence from home.  I do admit, Sebastian, that I am somewhat surprised you left Gregory home alone.”

      “He’s not.  I had Sherlock and John stop in and that’s why I’m supposedly out for food and alcohol.”

      “Ah.  An excellent plan.  Then, I shall see you… in an hour and a half, perhaps two.”

      “Ok.  And Mycroft…”

      “I know, do not mention your Jim to Gregory.”

      “I was going to say thank you for listening to me about Dad, but, yeah, that, too.”

Without waiting for Mycroft’s response, Sebastian made his own exit into the shadows and the last man standing checked his pocket watch, then started towards his waiting car.  The night certainly did not go as planned, thought, ultimately, he achieved the goals he had set for the meeting.  The extra complications were simply something with which he would have to deal and there was great familiarity in the pattern.  One always expected the unexpected in such matters, but this unexpectedness was more than slightly unsettling.  How does one broach a conversation about ending a person’s life?  Walking away from who one is and becoming someone new?  Fortunately, he had some time to think, and, wasn’t it convenient that he had quite the taste for a good quality ouzo…


	35. Chapter 35

      “Mycroft!  Finished saving the world for us poor, clueless bastards?”

Feeling surprisingly tired from his foray to his office, abbreviated though it was, Mycroft found his energy staging a valiant return from the warm smile greeting him from the sofa.

      “We shall have no worries about invaders from beyond the skies or beneath our feet.”

      “Space aliens and Morlocks… I happy to hear that!  At least, for tonight.  Another day, that might make the news worth watching, but today it would just run afoul of my ouzo. “

Which Greg raised in toast to his lover as his own small acknowledgement that Mycroft made it home safely and wasn’t dripping blood on the floor.  Nobody else had to know that the thought of his partner returning to work had him worried, but _he_ could know and he could happily enjoy an extra sip or two of spirits to celebrate Mycroft’s safe return.

      “A tragedy that cannot be overstated.  I take it the younger members of the family have scattered?”

Either that or his Gregory was the designated seeker in a game of hide-and-seek and had yet to actually make a start on his part of the gaiety.

      “They did.  Sherlock and John had only stopped in on their way home from a case, but they stayed long enough for Seb to run out for a little food and drink for us.  I set aside some for you in the kitchen, so if you’re hungry…”

      “I may partake a bit later.  For now, though…”

Mycroft sat next to his parnter on the sofa and took Greg’s hand, knowing he couldn’t see through the bandage, but believing that he could ascertain the status of his lover’s injuries through some mystical flow of energy.

      “… how are you, Gregory?  Tonight was not too unrestful for you, was it?”

      “I’m fine, love.  John took another peek at the carnage and pronounced it exactly the same as earlier, which is good, and all we did was chat and eat.  Seb and I were thinking about a bit of cards or chess, actually, but he got a call and had to take it away from his old dad’s ears.  I keep hoping it’s a secret lover, but it’s always business.  He takes some calls where I can’t hear, I think, because he’s worried the details being discussed will upset me.  Such a good boy.”

Dear Gregory… as strongly as Sebastian protects you from aspects of his life, I shall do the same.  Though, I suspect, the secret lover business _will_ need to be divulged at some point, whether Sebastian must endure your gleeful curiosity or not.

      “Something we can easily credit to your superlative genes.  However, if you desire, I would happily take his place and challenge you to a game of chess.  I have some matters I must tend to a touch later this evening, but a bracing round of mental combat would be welcome.”

      “Really?  You look tired, love.”

And his Mycroft had suffered enough lately that his energy needed to be kept topped up.  No use starting a game and having to carry his lover up to bed because he’d fallen asleep in the middle!

      “I _was_ fatigued, actually, and to my great surprise owing to the ease of my day, however, the soothing atmosphere of home is making a change to that.  Besides, I am awaiting certain messages and happily occupying myself whilst I wait shall surely not make the wait longer.”

Besides, my dear, you do enjoy such things and, after the lie of the evening and our impending conversation tomorrow… it is important that I see your enjoyment satisfied as best I can.

      “Alright, then.  I’ll set up the board while you change into something more comfortable.  I’ll warm your food, too, so you have something to throw at me when I make an especially brilliant move.”

      “An excellent plan.  A moment?”

Mycroft made his way upstairs, certainly not stopping at Sebastian’s door and _most_ certainly not applying an ear to it to catch a gist of the assassin’s conversation… and failing… before undressing and pausing a moment to examine his wound in the mirror.  Healing admirably…apparently, his Gregory was correct.  The extended rest _had_ bought him a very good start on the healing process and the occasional pain he experienced was only when motion was too quick or too excessive for the tissue.  Not that he ever desired again to sport a gunshot wound, but, should it happen, Gregory was unquestionably the one he wanted at his bedside to provide care.  Which was quite fortunate since Gregory would certainly fight to the death any other who tried to take on that role…

__________

      “You certain, love?”

A spirited game of chess, a bit of ouzo, and Mycroft was positive that if Greg closed his eyes for one second the man would be fast asleep.  Yes, he was _very_ certain.

      “To bed this instant, young man.”

      “Alone?”

      “Yes.”

      “What if… monsters.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Monsters.  The under the bed sort.”

      “I trust you shall make them comfortable with blanket and pillow so that you all might enjoy a pleasant, albeit communal, rest.”

      “I’d rather enjoy a pleasant, communal rest with you…”

From your tone, dear Gregory, rest will not arrive for you if I accompany you to bed and rest is first and foremost what you need.

      “When I have finished for the night, I shall happily join you.”

      “But… you know… I…”

      “Yes?”

      “Big red box.”

The nuclear weapons had been launched!

      “Gregory…”

      “Got a gorgeous, thin cock sound just waiting to be tried on a suitably gorgeous cock.”

To the bunker, immediately!  Duck and cover!

      “Something to which I greatly look forward, when we are somewhat further along in time.”

      “Ooh… that’s no fun.  Someone should be paddled for that.”

Dig a trench!  Roll in Mylar to reflect the gamma rays!

      “Another thing to which I greatly look forward, but the hour is late and you need rest.”

      “I… how about…”

Mycroft leaned and gave Greg a prolonged soft, kiss smirking that he had to nudge his partner slightly back awake once it was over.

      “To bed, Gregory.  Tomorrow, I suspect…”

If your tongue sours, my love, it is simply due to the unwholesome lie that has landed upon it.

      “… my rendezvous shall not take terribly long and we might have time aplenty for whatever pleasures we desire.”

      “Pooh.”

      “That is not a pleasure I desire.”

Greg laughed and conceded defeat for this particular battle.

      “Funny.  But, that’s not among my likes either, if you’re wondering.  Alright… I’m going to bed, cold and alone.”

      “Patently untrue.  You have monsters galore from which to choose an appropriate bedwarmer.  A werewolf, perhaps.  They are well-provided with fur and should you offer a cozily-warm sleep.”

Greg’s rude noise helped propel him off the sofa, but sputtered when Mycroft slid a hand up his inner thigh and happily fondled what he found at the end of the journey.

      “Not fair!”

      “All’s fair in love and war, I believe is the expression.”

Oh, how his dearest Gregory smiled when their love was mentioned.  If ever proof was needed their affection was real and true, that was more than sufficient to fit the bill.

      “Bastard.  Maybe I _will_ sleep with Wolfie tonight, just to make you jealous.”

      “Given you proclaim my feet to be ‘as cold as witch’s tit’ and I must suffer the agitated foot flailings of your offended extremities, the suggestion is not entirely a distressing one.”

Taking a prolonged feel of Greg’s nethers as spoils for another surprisingly successful jest that made his lover laugh, Mycroft finally sighed grandly and pointed towards the stairs, adoring the mournful pout Greg wore until he was fully out of sight.  In truth, he did have a few things requiring his attention and seeing them sorted tonight would ease his schedule tomorrow.  At present his plan was to leave the house somewhat early in the evening, return after a believable amount of time, then have sufficient time to have the _true_ meeting that tomorrow was poised to host.   That meeting, in terms of difficulty, would put tonight’s handily to shame…

__________

      “Oh.  You’re still awake.”

Of course.  His first respite to make a soothing cup of tea and the demon of chaos appears.  Well, one of them, at least.

      “And, apparently, Sebastian, you are as well.  How tidily the situation is summarized.”

      “Funny.  Is… Dad’s asleep, right?”

      “He is.  The day was somewhat draining for him, I suspect, and I urged him to take some rest.”

      “Good… that’s good.”

Though, the hesitation in Sebastian’s voice gave Mycroft pause.  He had never, in his life, had the slightest flicker of interest in siring any sons, given the eternal toddler he reared named Sherlock, but it appeared another eternal toddler was hoping to have a place under his proverbial skirts.  And… he could not say he abhorred the idea.

      “Is there something on your mind, Sebastian?”

Pulling out a chair from the kitchen table, Mycroft took a seat and motioned for Seb to do the same, something that the assassin did without a great deal of thought.

      “Not really.”

Mycroft nearly fainted from the utter lack of surprise at the uninformative response.  Apparently, he would have to tease the data from its source…

      “And might this ‘not really’ have something to do with the call you received about your work?”

      “No.  Because that wasn’t true.”

Ah… and if that was not the issue…

      “I see.  How is our Mr. Moriarty this night?  Happily ensconced in the lap of luxury?”

The tiniest of smiles that broke out on Sebastian’s lips told Mycroft he’d squarely hit the mark.

      “That fucker was a cat in a former life.  One of those that lived in Egypt and was treated like a king.”

      “Yes, his felinity was most apparent.  Did he phone for a specific reason or simply to hear the dulcet tones of your voice?”

      “Fuck off.”

      “Very well, the grating, nails-on-blackboard sound of your voice.”

      “Better.  And… sort of.”

      “Would you care to elaborate?”

      “He… Jim’s…”

      “Criminally insane?”

      “Yeah, but… not about… not about as much as it might seem.”

      “He affects an air of criminal insanity, is that your contention?”

      “Partially?  He’s likely sectionable as loony and dangerous, but…”

Sebastian gazed off for a moment and any lingering doubts Mycroft harbored about the assassin honestly having feelings for Moriarty were handily put to rest.

      “Yes?”

      “He called to say he was sorry.  It’s hard to know with Jim if he’s sorry he did it, put Dad in danger, I mean, or he’s sorry he upset me by doing it, but…”

      “There was authentic contrition regardless.”

      “Yeah.  He genuinely thought that Dad wouldn’t have a hard time with the shooters!  That he… well that he’d be exactly how I painted him… as Action Dad.”

      “A… Action Dad?”

      “You will never repeat that to Dad if you value your tongue staying in your head.”

      “Fear not, for I doubt my tongue could utter it a second time, in any case, without _falling_ from mouth, having self-severed in shame.”

      “Good.  Anyway… Jim thought I was serious about that, I suppose.  That it would be like two men with guns barging in on _me_.  And, in a way, it was, despite Dad not having a few weapons concealed on him, which I’ve told him to do a _hundred_ times when he goes out for private work, but…”

      “I would interject, Sebastian, that Moriarty used Gregory at all, let alone without discussing the matter with you beforehand… that is not what one might call the act of a devoted lover.”

      “For most people, no.  For Jim… it’s actually what I would expect.  He doesn’t think the way normal people do and it’s hard to judge him with normal rules.”

Something for which Mycroft had endless amounts of practice with Eternal Toddler #1.  The vitriol Sherlock experienced from the world, at times, was because he was judged by the world’s typical standards, standards which he failed to understand.  Of course, Sherlock also did not wreak Moriarty’s degree of lethal chaos, so he would remain with a shinier star on his record than Sebastian’s paramour.

      “True, but his avoidance of said normal rules does not erase or diminish the damage he causes.  The lives he takes.”

      “Doesn’t for me, either.  Or you.”

Eternal Toddler #2 would not receive either a warm bottle or lolly for a fortnight.

      “True, however…”

      “You know if you’re going to try and go down the moral high ground route that a sinkhole is going to open under your feet, don’t you?”

Yes, but hope springs eternal.  Like toddlers.

      “I was going to assert that, unlike you or I, Moriarty does not seem to have limits or lines in the sand.”

      “He does.  They’re just so wide and large that it’s hard to see them.  Animals, for instance.  Had me do some rather amusing damage to one bloke who was profoundly unkind to his dog when Jim was there to see.  That was fun, actually.  Very satisfying.  Though Jim won’t go near a dog or cat since they’d make a mess of his suits; that’s the vanity bit showing up again.  He’ll listen, too, if I tell him he’s going off the bridge.  Jim’ll complain and wail and pout, but he’ll change his plans, listen to suggestions, so that they’re not so ludicrous.  He’s completely mad, but you can draw down the madness to a more manageable level if you try.  At least, I can.”

Though, Mycroft had to consider, Sebastian’s level of madness was also somewhat near the top of the scale.  However, he _did_ seem to have more narrowly-defined limits, a distaste for pointless waste of life and some small semblance of moral compass.

      “Do you forgive him?  For the pain he caused your father?”

      “I do, as best I can forgive anyone for making Dad suffer.  I understand and that counts for a lot.  He had you done, too, which is a grand thing, so he wins points for that.  A _lot_ of them.”

Said with a teasing smile that earned only Mycroft’s third most severe rebuking glare.  Though, if softened a bit as he broached another area of suffering.

      “And your father’s agent?”

Here Sebastian’s smile faltered and was replaced by something different, that Mycroft couldn’t precisely define.

      “We talked about that.  Jim… that wasn’t part of his plan.  He contacted Kevin with false credentials and everything was fine until… Derek Drake is a paranoid, spiteful fucker.  Thought Kevin was a loose end and, even though Kev didn’t know a fucking thing and… you know what happened.  If Drake had just followed the plan like Jim’s other clients…”

      “Anyone who crafts plans and initiatives does so recognizing there _will_ be stochastic elements and factors out of their control   Whereas Moriarty might not have specifically predicted this particular one, that Kevin was at all involved, like your father, placed him as a piece on the game board and, potentially in harms way.  That your Jim did not intentionally direct this is to his credit, but I would ask if that is that enough for you?”

The upset was clearly written on Sebastian’s face, but there was something behind it that had Mycroft intrigued.

      “No… and yes.  The only reason Drake’s alive right now is you think he might have use.  And… so does Jim.  And if you two have use for him, that means I’ve a say in it, too, and there are things I could do with an arse like that.  There’s a few groups I know Marcus sold to that I don’t want sold to anymore.  Groups and people I think Derek might be made worried enough about that he does something about it.  Nasty pieces of work that would as soon shoot a child as they would a tin of beans.  If you and Jim can have your schemes, then I can, too, and you’ll help me make that happen.”

The determined set of the assassin’s lips underscored the adamancy of his tone and Mycroft knew this was something on which Sebastian would not be moved.  And, in truth, he had no inclination to try.

      “And _that_ is what makes this enough for you.”

      “It’ll have to be.  Jim didn’t kill Kevin, though his plan did that indirectly and I can’t deny it.  What I can do, though, is make that death meaningful.  See it has some purpose that… that Kevin would approve of.  He hated cruelty, hated seeing the vulnerable taken advantage of.  Fuckers who go into villages and kill women and children because they think it’s a show of strength… Kevin would be the first one with a gun in hand giving every one of them a bullet in the skull.  I can do that for him… that’s something I _can_ do.  And I will do it or we’re going to have a problem.”

Though his Gregory may never know of it, this was something of which his lover would _also_ approve.  It did not change the past, but it did make a memorial of sorts to the man Gregory loved so dearly.

      “I shall do what I can to assist with that, Sebastian.  It is a fitting tribute, I believe, based on what I have learned about the man from your father and I shall not argue the general benefit besides.”

      “Thanks.  I didn’t know Kev and Nora’s sons, just met them a few times and, well, they didn’t know anything about me which is good, but… I’m going to keep an eye on them, as part of all this.  Make Jim do that, too.  And you.”

      Another thing for which my cooperation is assured.  Especially…”

The look in Mycroft’s eyes made Sebastian suck in his breath and nod in understanding.

      “Since Dad could be ‘dead’ very soon.”

      “Precisely.  That, I know, will be something that will pain him greatly and come to weigh on his mind.  He does have hopes to be there for them now that their mother and father are gone.”

      “It will.  It’ll fucking break his heart.  Then we absolutely keep an eye on the lads.  Do what we can for them.”

      “That we shall.  Now, as it stands your father and I will have our discussion tomorrow and, I suspect, you will have your own further words with Jim, so some of this might be touched upon so balls might be set in motion.”

      “Oh yes… again, Jim will complain, wail and pout, but he won’t walk away.  He’ll listen and then he’ll make a dramatic show of giving in, though it’s killing him to do it.”

      “Most theatrical.  Then, after he revives from his death, we can seek an appropriate time for him to meet your father.”

      “WHAT!  NO!  No, are you… you’re as daft as Jim!”

      “Sebastian, you are an adult and, as much as it pains me to say it, Moriarty appears to be someone who shall continue to be important in your life.  I shall not pass judgement, other than to say… I will make myself available to listen whenever you might wish to talk about matters, regardless of… how personal they might be.  That being said, Gregory should _also_ have that opportunity.  He does hope you have something in this life other than loneliness, Sebastian, and, no matter the small amount of nosiness you might suffer, it would make him terribly happy to know you have companionship and, perhaps more.”

      “Noooooooooooooooo……”

      “You are not a child, so do not act like one.”

      “I would be a child if I was one of those big sequoia trees.  Or a Galapagos tortoise.”

      “When you can present a birth certificate listing one of those as a parent, then I shall tolerate your piteous whinging.”

      “Mother:  Donna Campbell.  Father: Scaly McTurtle.  Better than what’s there now.”

      “On that point, I do agree.  But, do give the issue some thought, Sebastian.  With his recent losses and the potential upheaval ahead of him, your father would benefit from any peace of mind he can acquire concerning his son.”

Perhaps guilt was not the kindest of tools, but it could be a highly effective one when used properly.

      “Fine… I’ll think about it.”

      “That is all I ask.  Now, might I inquire as to why you have visited the kitchen?”

The small shrug of Sebastian’s shoulders made Mycroft wonder, somewhat pleasantly, if the younger man had hoped he _would_ be awake so there would be a safe ear to discuss the evening, now that there had been time to process it.

      “Hungry.”

      “Then let us remedy that, shall we?  And…”

Should he?  Well, it was not as if Sebastian was unaware of at least some aspects of his work.

      “… while we affect that remedy, we might discuss a certain situation in Morocco about which you may have some insights.”

      “Oh… ok.  We have bacon?”

      “I believe we do and in rather abundant quantity.”

      “Bacon sandwich.  Two.  Crisps.  Beer.”

      “Do pardon me, but I seem to have lost my order pad, as well as my apron and staff uniform.”

      “Baby tortoises can’t cook.”

      “Might baby tortoises be skilled with washing pans and plates?”

      “You got brown sauce for my sandwich.”

      “I would be a fool if I did not.”

      “Then my stubby feet can do the washing up.”

Nodding his agreement, Mycroft rose to begin the impromptu late-night snack and decided that a sandwich for himself was not the worst idea to cross his mind today.  Gregory did keep a close eye on the balance between health and indulgence in his cooking, leaning a touch towards the health line, but Gregory was not here, was he?  Let indulgence reign…

__________

Sebastian was out of the house early to begin his day of shopping, Mycroft did a morning’s work at the office, with John visiting with Greg until Mycroft returned in the afternoon and then came the lying portion of the day, which was smoothed by the additional lie that the meeting was to occur at a rather bustling pub where there was a plethora of eyes to keep matters safe for all parties involved.

And, during his enforced hour and a half of absence, Mycroft had his driver chauffer him around the city so he could think, stopping now and then at a quiet, scenic spot to let the tranquility of the moment calm his mind.  This was a miserable thing to ask of his Gregory and he had devoted an incalculable amount of thought into crafting another, less drastic option, but none presented itself.  Everything his beloved had worked so hard to build would be lost… and what would replace it?  His job, his little book group, the few friends and many acquaintances… to truly start anew was a punishing thing, as many who went into protective hiding learned to their distress and he had nothing, here, to offer in recompense.  Nothing but himself, which, given the enormity of Gregory’s potential sacrifice, seemed pathetically minor in comparison.

When the car finally deposited him back home, Mycroft took a deep breath and almost bid the driver wait in case a quick escape was warranted, then decided he did not deserve an escape route if Gregory’s anger rose to the level it had majestically erupted in the past.  It would be his due and he would accept the remodeled nose stoically.

      “Mycroft!  Oh, love… I’m glad you’re home.”

Nodding imperceptibly to Sebastian to signal the oncoming storm, Mycroft smiled widely and greeted his lover with a tender kiss.

      “Ugh… if you two are going to do that, I’m going watch telly in my room.”

      “Well, we are, you evil son, so be off with you.”

Which was exactly what Mycroft and Sebastian wanted, so the sniper happily dashed out of the sitting room so the fun could begin.

      “Very good, my dear.  Now I may ravage you to my heart’s content and not suffer any scoring of my performance.”

      “He’d be a bastard about it, too.  So… did it go well?”

The answer to that remained to be seen.

      “Yes, I believe it did.  However…”

      “Mycroft?”

      “We have matters to discuss ourselves.  There… there is a situation afoot, my dear, and it is to my limitless regret that you are at its center.”

      “Me?  How… Mycroft… what are you talking about?”

Smiling sadly, Mycroft embarked upon the path he knew must be trod prior to his Gregory making any form of decision and crooked his finger for Greg to follow him up the stairs and to their bedroom.

      “Before we discuss the events at the hotel or where that has led… there is something you must know.  It… it is important, I feel, that you do.”

Averting his gaze from the growing upset and confusion in Greg’s eyes, Mycroft walked to the closet, moved aside some clothing and, after a moment’s hesitation, opened the hidden panel and stepped aside, motioning Greg to begin his inspection, which Greg did somewhat slowly and cautiously until the nature of the contents made themselves known.

      “You… you’ve got my films!  And… look at all the mags.   You… oh, decided to see what the fuss was about, did you?  Can’t say I blame you, love, and you certainly didn’t have to hide it.  I’d be happy, in fact, to watch these with you and give you all the stories about them being made.  See this one, _Lust in London_?  I thought I fucking blinded myself!  There was this scene where Reece was lying there holding his cock so it stood straight up and I was supposed to get down there for a bit of a suck… well, remember that stray lube issue I told you about?  Slipped and fell face first onto his hard on!  Caught it right in my eye and going to hospital to have the doctor check I hadn’t been blinded by someone’s cock wasn’t the highlight of my day, that’s for certain!”

Watching Gregory’s films _with_ Gregory would likely send him so ragingly into a fit of jealousy that the adult entertainment industry would find itself subject to a scorched earth protocol, so best let that suggestion be set aside until it was well and truly forgotten.  Besides, that was not the point of this revelation and the point needed to arrive.

      “If you look again, my dear, you might reconsider your evaluation.”

Giving Mycroft a ‘huh?’ look, Greg started rummaging again and, finally, something did begin to strike him, and strike him rather forcefully.

      “You… you’ve got a lot of rare stuff here.  In fact, you’ve got a lot of _stuff_ here.  My early films, early photo shoots… this magazine only published a few issues before the police raided the publisher for… some money laundering thing or tax evasion or something of the like.  And this… this video with _this_ case… the company put the wrong credits on the back and they had to send a lad out to the few shops that carried them to take them all back.  I don’t think more than a couple could have been sold with this box.  Mycroft… I know you’ve got a long reach, but I don’t see how you could have found all of this.  Especially not in this short a time.”

And, it begins.

      “That is because I have had a very long time to gather this, Gregory.  A lifetime, in fact.”

      “What?  What do you mean?”

      “Those are mine.  Purchased over the years.  Some acquired when newly released, others through secondary sources once I learned of their existence.”

      “I don’t understand.  I… this one, for instance.  I did this film… it was probably twenty-five years ago!”

      “Twenty-seven, actually.  And I purchased it from a rather unwholesome shop with the most garish green paint on the walls.”

      “That was Andy Knight’s place.  I used to go there to drop off boxes of tapes when the lad who was supposed to do it sodded off to the pub for a pint rather than earning his wage.  Nephew of the bloke who owned the studio I was working for at the time, so he never got sacked, but… but that’s not really important, is it?”

      “No, for our purposes it is not.”

Seeing the growing awareness in Greg’s eyes, Mycroft walked towards the bed and patted the space next to him for his lover to have a seat.  After a moment and a few looks back into the closet, Greg sat and waited for an explanation.

      “I have known you for what seems an eternity, Gregory.  I saw you… the very first time my eyes landed upon you, I was _captivated_ and that has remained with me throughout these many years.  I was enthralled, enraptured by Gerard Lestrange and never has that binding lessened, never dimmed in the slightest.”

      “You… you knew who I was that first night at the hotel.”

      “Yes, I knew and felt myself completely overwhelmed by the experience.  You were my fondest fantasy, my only fantasy, in many ways… the person who was always there for me when… when the urges rose, as well as the anxieties.  I used you countless times to satisfy my lusts and soothe my disquiets.  You have been a fixed point in my life, something that ever was there, always changing, but always constant.  I have walked these years with your image at my side and felt my world shatter when I first saw you in the flesh.”

      “You’ve been lying to me.  Ever since we met, you’ve been _lying_ to me.”

Greg’s expression wavered between anger, shock and disappointment, settling, in full, on none of them.

      “In the sense that you never asked plainly if I knew you, then no.  However, lies of omission are often the most dishonorable kind.”

Greg’s breath came hard and fast as he wrestled with the avalanche of emotions landing on him and Mycroft didn’t dare reach out to calm his lover, not knowing if his touch was or would ever again be welcome.

      “Mycroft… I… I don’t know what to say.  Is… all of this, all we are… it’s just… is any of it real?”

This expression was nearly fearful and it tore into Mycroft’s heart with the ferocity of one of Sebastian’s bullets.

      “All of it.  _All_ our love is real, Gregory.  The night in the hotel, I met Gerard Lestrange.  That man no longer exists to me.  You are not him, you are someone… real.  You exist.  You are not a fantasy.  You are a man about whom I care deeply and with whom I hope to share my life.  I long profoundly for your body, that I admit, and revel in our intimacy, but it is _ours_.  I came very much to love the man you are, not the celluloid character that had been your substitute for those long years.  I love you, Gregory… your intelligence, damnable stubbornness, tender heart, clever humor, strong sense of whimsy… I love _you_.  You are not the man I have known, you are someone wholly different and I will confess that baffled me terribly at the beginning of our acquaintance.  You were so… full.  You burst with life and evinced the most layered, nuanced, multi-faceted of personalities and I have rejoiced in all of it…”

      “Then why the FUCK didn’t you say anything!”

      “For reasons that are not clear even to me.  It is not something I would easily admit, the reliance, the _dependence_ on you… on Gerard.  The singularity of focus that could be credibly termed obsession.  Then, as we grew closer, as I saw you for who you are, not for the image I had concocted in my mind… I suppose I grew ashamed.  Both of my flagrant use of that image in the tawdriest of ways _and_ for my lack of honesty, something I quickly came to know was significant to you.  I felt, in some ways, that the moment for disclosure had passed, that my revelation now only was primed to harm and that was not something I could bear.  I fell in love with the most vibrant of men and the thought of losing you… it terrified me.  I love you, Gregory, not Gerard, but the man who has the most atrocious of given names and a son that rivals Sherlock as bringer of perdition to my life.  My heart is yours, this house is ours and one in which our family shall gather to celebrate the life we are building.  That is… if you choose to continue along that path with me.”

And there it was.  The first of the two choices his Gregory had to make and Mycroft envied him neither.  Though, rather shamefully, this first one was, to him, the most pressing.

      “I… I truly can’t believe this, Mycroft.  All this time, me talking about my work and you pretending you hadn’t a clue about any of it… you’re right I prize honesty.  My fucking wife and her affairs, studios and directors that try to cheat and deceive… and now you, drawing me close when… when it was probably something you wanted whether I was Greg or Gerard or whoever!”

      “No, Gregory… I tried, truly tried, _not_ to chart that course.  I… I sought, perhaps, friendship as we seemed well suited for that, but it was not until I was injured, until the night in the shower that I believed that a physical, a romantic, relationship was possible.  I will not lie and say the thought had not crossed mind, for it had, somewhat often, at that, but I did not act upon it.  It did not seem the proper thing to do and… I was somewhat confident that I was not the sort of man you would view in that light.  When I learned differently, no, I did not hesitate to reach out and take what was being offered.  But, it _was_ offered, my dear.  I did not steal it.  I did not manipulate or coerce.  The regard we had already built would make than a reprehensible thing to my mind, no matter how powerfully I might long for your arms.”

Risking the contact, Mycroft laid his hand over Greg’s and breathed a mental sigh of relief that it was not shoved away.

      “I’m not happy about this, Mycroft.  I’m fucking… I don’t know what I fucking am right now, but I fucking am something and… how is this my life?  How did it come to this?”

Which opened the door to another conversation, but Mycroft had no desire to walk through at this precise moment.  There was another door that required closing first, for better or for worse.

      “Through many things, I suspect, but… I would ask, Gregory what now is in your heart?  I know you are angry, perhaps feel betrayed, dishonored, and I will work tirelessly to lift that from you, but your heart is the final judge here and only you know its will.”

Wishing he could jump out of the window and run, Greg ran his free hand through his hair and huffed out a large breath.  It was all a lie… or not.  Mycroft knew who he was from the beginning but… but he didn’t do anything about it.  Didn’t make advances or offers.  And he _did_ fight like a bastard against being taken care of when the taking care of involved being naked.  Bastard still should have said something… but, it was hard to believe Mycroft planned this to happen.  If he had, they’d probably just have enjoyed some scorching sex and that would be the end of it.  It wasn’t though… not at all…

      “I’ll probably wrestle with how I feel for awhile, but it’s mostly going to be about trust and what I need to be certain I do trust you.  I don’t like being lied to, Mycroft… it’s an insult that I simply can’t ignore, but… I also can’t say that lie was part of some trap.  I don’t feel that you used the situation to maneuver me into something or made me make decisions I otherwise wouldn’t.  I do love you, Mycroft, that’s what my heart says.  I love you and that life you want to share still holds appeal, but I have to know this sort of thing won’t happen again.  I understand you can’t be honest about your work, that doesn’t bother me, but for our life together… I can’t have lies like this.  I just can’t.”

The surge of relief nearly made Mycroft choke, but he swallowed down the pressure and reached out to caress Greg’s cheek.

      “And I will not present them.  There shall be no deceit, no betrayal of trust… I am not so foolish as to believe I shall not tell you any lies, for it is the hallmark of all relationships.  The little things to avoid the hurting of feelings or maintain a pleasant surprise, but nothing like this.  I love you desperately, Gregory, and I will never again give you that insult.”

Greg made a little doo-de-doo noise and nodded a few times before he finally smiled and realized that he and Mycroft had navigated their first true relationship danger and done it properly.  Talked it out, didn’t hold back with feelings and listened… if they could navigate this, it was a good sign for the future.  A very good sign.  Speaking of…

      “Alright, then… well done us.  Now… you said this was sort of a prelude to something else.  Want to let me know what that is?”

No.  A thousand times no.  But, my wants are irrelevant on the issue…

      “Yes and I ask that you recognize entering into this that nothing I am going to say is being said lightly or without the most extreme amount of thought being devoted towards any other possible outcomes.”

      “Ok, now you’re scaring me.”

      “And that is not, all things considered, inappropriate.”

Launching into his story, leaving aside the details of Sebastian’s relationship with Jim, Mycroft outlined the facts as he knew them, including supporting ones he had spent parts of last night and today collecting.  The pain seeing his Gregory’s lose his light was tortuous, but there was nothing for it, though he dearly wished there was.

      “Are you… no, I’m not going to ask if you’re serious because I know you have to be to say all of that but… Mycroft… what do I even say?  How do I give an answer to that?”

      “You say what you feel and think, and, together, we shall work to help you fully digest the situation and make your decision.”

      “What decision?  Live in hiding or die, for all intents purposes!”

      “I did not say the decision would be an easy one or one that was free of cost.  I have sought another options, my dear, and there are none that offer a better solution.”

      “Seb could just kill the fucker… yes, I know what you said about that.  I still like that idea, though.  I like it a lot.”

      “In truth, so do I.  It _is_ possible, Gregory.  It is not optimal, but it is a viable alternative.”

Greg chewed his lip as he thought and Mycroft simply waited for him to think through things a little longer.

      “It would fuck up a lot for you, though, wouldn’t it?”

      “It would make certain avenues more difficult, however, difficult does not equate to impossible.”

      “Talk to me about people… would that hurt people?”

      “Yes.  With Drake as a controllable pawn, there would be fewer lives lost than otherwise.  And those that would be lost could be shifted somewhat towards those who… had demonstrated through deed that their life was not one to admire… or preserve.”

      “It _would_ help, that’s what you’re saying.”

      “It would, but that is not the only factor of relevance.  You have your own life, Gregory, to consider.  Your career and the connections you have made with the people around you.  That would be lost.  Completely.  Not a single tie could be maintained other than with Sebastian, myself, Sherlock and John.  That is a tremendous sacrifice and not one for which you could ever be faulted by choosing against it.  I am prepared for whatever is your answer, my dear, do not let that sway your decision.  This is your life and yours alone… _yours_ is the final word on the subject.”

For once in his life, Greg wished his word _wasn’t_ the final one.  Wished that Mycroft would just say there was only a single choice and fuck any opinion to the contrary.  It would make this so much easier, because… how do you choose something like that?  How do you say, no thank you, I like my life and I’m keeping it when… when you could help others by letting it go?  But, why should those bastards be more important than him?  Well, maybe because he’d still have a nice house, everything he might want and someone who loved him and it was more than slightly selfish to say that’s not enough when other people’s lives might be lost because of it.  He was already looking towards the end of his career… and moving in with Mycroft would take him away from his neighbors and the people he knew beyond a meet-for-drinks at his old local, which he scarcely had time for, in any case…

Nothing said he couldn’t find _another_ local.  Or meet new people.  He could do all the things he’d been wanting to do, even find another job that let him try something different.  In a strange way, he could look at this as an opportunity.  A fresh start.  Nearly his whole life had been divided between Gerard and Greg, but now… he could just be Greg.  That, actually, didn’t sound as horrible as he expected.  He’d never be ashamed of Gerard Lestrange, but it might be nice, for a change, for people to… not do as Mycroft had done.  Think the person in the film was actually him… love or hate, it would be for the man he _really_ was and not someone they thought he was instead…

      “My dear?  Would you prefer if I left you alone to contemplate?”

      “What?  Oh, sorry… no, it’s fine.  Poof!  I’ll die.  I have one condition, though.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he found himself actually taken aback that not only Greg had an answer so swiftly, but that it was the answer he had thought would be the hardest to give.

      “You are certain, my dear?”

      “If you just asked me over breakfast one morning if that was something that interested me, I’d have said to fuck off, but… I know you wouldn’t have even put that out as an option if it wasn’t extremely important.  If the benefits ridiculously outweighed the cost to me.  So, yes, I’ll go through with your silly spy nonsense, as long as my one condition is met.”

      Which is?”

Greg told him and then had to tell Mycroft again because the first go didn’t seem to have sunk in very far.

      “You… truly, Gregory?”

      “Yep and I think, all things considered, it’s more than fair.”

      “I…”

      “Do you really want to fight me on this?”

      “No… I just… is that absolutely non-negotiable?”

      “Costs and benefits, love.  _Your_ choice, now.”

Gregory would have made a master operative for any government… and he happily used his powers for evil.  What a spectacular man…

      “Then… I suppose my choice is to agree.”

      “Good.  We can work out the details as soon as you like and get started on the new me.”

Leaning in to kiss his lover, Greg half expected it to wake him from a spell so tonight had never existed but, since that didn’t happen, he simply let it bloom into something warm and loving and… theirs.  Yes, he would be someone new now, but he would be that new man with Mycroft.  And their loony, unique family.  The important things, the most important things, would still be his and that was all that mattered.  Well, that and his one condition.  Which his happy little family was certain to hate…


	36. Chapter 36

      “I am, once again, logging my objection for the record.”

Mycroft sighed and ignored his brother, much as he had for the previous weeks’ worth of logged objections.

      “You have alcohol, Sherlock.  Make productive use of it and allow the rest of us respite from your ceaseless nattering.”

      “Ceaseless is an incorrect assessment as I cannot object while sleeping and I have been forced to sleep several times this week by John, who has no respect nor regard for the demands of science.”

      “Mine’s in writing.”

Sebastian slid over a piece of paper which, in pointed detail, stated his numerous objections to the circumstances and his participation in them.  And, of course, it was signed with a flourish.

      “Another item to add to your father’s album of photographs and press clippings.”

      “I’m fine.”

John’s happy agreement to, at least, a part of his Gregory’s machinations did nothing to gladden Mycroft’s heart.  Quite the opposite, in fact.

      “Thank you, John.  Your support, as always, is appreciated.”

      “Poor Greg’s _needed_ some support in all of this, what with you lot and your moaning.  I think this is a grand thing…  I mean, look around!  You can’t say this isn’t the best possible way for Greg to slide out of his old skin and have that slide be meaningful?”

I can and I will, tiny doctor.  However, it shall remain as a mental oration in the spirit of camaraderie.  And… because Gregory has positively glowed when thinking about tonight …

      “I would say his ridiculous ego has overflowed like a plugged sewer and we are now awash in disease.  And I am speaking literally, in that I predict a full half of the people in his space are riddled with some form of sexually-communicable contagion.”

John gave Sherlock a gesture he’d learned from Greg that made the detective squawk much in the manner of a pearl-clutching dowager and Sebastian nodded approvingly.

      “Listen, Sherlock, just because you’ve never… oh!  Yes!  Looks like things are starting.”

John smiled brightly and laughed that Sherlock and Sebastian made sure their seats were turned fully away from the stage as the master of ceremonies proudly announced the star of the show, Mr. Gerard Lestrange, much to Mycroft’s jealous annoyance.

_“I want to dance one last time.”_

Could his Gregory have asked for anything more onerous?  Not only for the security protocols that had to be enacted, but… nooooooooooooooooooo….

      “There he is!”

Spirited exclamations and pointing will earn you only a protracted period of scrutiny by Her Majesty’s tax collectors, John.  Make note of Sherlock and Sebastian, who are properly ensuring they do not gaze upon Gregory’s glory, which is only mine to behold.  You may, however, fail to adopt their false weeping and rather dramatic faked death scenes.

      “You’re in for a treat, Mycroft.  Really, you just don’t know.”

I _do_ know, John, and that is why my soul is being ripped into a thousand pieces. The very fabric of my being is being savaged by the cold, cruel, claws of… oh.  Oh dear…

Greg’s initial walk on stage had been in dim light, but with the start of his performance, the lights flared, the music began and Mycroft saw his lover presented as majestically as he could ever have imagined, in a scandalous costume of black leather which included gloves that allowed free finger motion, but provided effective camouflage of his lover’s injuries.  Though, none of it was as scandalous as his Gregory’s smile as he started to dance.

      “I can hear the depravity.  Taste the indecency as a pungent slime upon my tongue.”

      “Very Victorian of you, brother.”

Now, shush… because…

The dancing he had witnessed in their bedroom was breathtaking.  So intimate and, ultimately, loving.  This… this person doing the dancing was a wholly different creature.  One who exuded animal sexuality as if that was the only energy he possessed.  Unabashed carnality that bathed the audience in an intoxicating cloud of primal magnetism that had every man in the room fully under his spell.  It was… power, in its purest form.  A hold that reached to the deepest, most inner corners of a man and gripped with unbreakable strength.

And it was glorious.  Not simply his Gregory’s performance, which was awe-inspiring, but the manner in which he transfixed the assembled and they obeyed his command.  He directed their lusts, controlled the ebb and flow of their passion and nary an eye moved from his Gregory, who knew perfectly well that was the case.  Mycroft had come prepared to experience scorching jealousy, scarcely-contained possessive rage, but… he felt something highly unexpected instead.

Pride.  Honest, chest-swelling pride in his lover’s potency.  In his Gregory’s control and unquestioned authority as the ruler of this room.  His every wish was his subject’s command and it was the most compelling, mesmerizing thing this simple mortal had ever witnessed.

And, in the blink of an eye, Mycroft understood, with complete clarity, the dichotomy of his lover.  This _was_ work.  This affectation, this Gerard Lestrange, had little in common with the man he loved because this was a role.  The role of a lifetime, perhaps, but a role nonetheless.  One played magnificently, modified through the years to accommodate age and changing tastes, but… his Gregory was right to call it a job.  And it was a job his beloved did exceedingly well.

      “He’s amazingly talented, isn’t he?”

      “I… yes, John.  I must say… I agree.”

And that agreement simply increased as the performance continued, his lover ultimately clad only in the most miniscule of black leather garments that cupped his nethers and winded around only as the most filamentous of strands gliding between each cheek of his succulent arse.  Amazing was the truth of it as he _was_ amazed.  Suffused with indescribable admiration for his lover’s talent and ability to hold the room under his enchantment.

      “Will this debauchery ever end?”

      “I loved you once, Dad.  Never again.  No love for you, old, bad man.”

Mycroft waved off the naysayers and settled in to freely enjoy the remainder of the show, sipping the excellent scotch he had ordered brought to their table and smiling broadly at the reaction of the audience to his lover’s erotic spectacle.  And spectacle it was… his lover had thrown his soul into planning this final act and was… his Gregory was reveling in the experience.  He could not radiate a greater joy; it simply was not possible.  Every gram of glee in his Gregory’s soul was on display and it was utterly extraordinary.  And utterly… heartbreaking.

An uncomfortably-cold tendril began to work through Mycroft’s veins and he was relieved it began as his lover’s performance was ending for he would not have been able to fully appreciate the magnificence with this frost forming in his core.

      “What a show!  Greg was fantastic!  I’m glad I was here for this because that… that was something to remember!  It’s going to be talked about for weeks…”

John snorted at Sherlock’s murderous glare and wished the calls for an encore would be heeded, but that wasn’t going to happen.  It couldn’t if they were to keep on schedule.

      “Your fawning admiration of the pervert does you no credit, John.”

      “Left your wimple at the cleaners, Sister Holmes?”

      “I am not a nun.”

      “Could’ve fooled me.  Mycroft… ready?”

Far less so than he had been…

      “Yes, John, and I suppose we best make a start.  Gregory is likely eager to begin on… Phase II.”

      “He really planned this quite expertly.  Going to give him a job once he’s dead?  He even has the Phase I, Phase II bits down.  Very professional, I have to say.”

      “I am certain Gregory will be most pleased to hear your evaluation.  Now, shall we?  Sherlock?  Sebastian?  Kindly rise from the grave and shamble towards the door, like good little zombies.  I shall join Gregory in the car and… we shall see the rest of you very soon.”

Mycroft smiled weakly and took his leave, which meant John had to tend to the zombies, who were slow to resurrect and could only be pried from the table with a promise that the nearly-naked portion of the evening was truly at an end.  Now, it was time to get ready for Phase II and this promised to be as much fun as Phase I.  Well, for John, at least…

__________

      “Mycroft!  Hello, love?  Enjoy the show?”

Greg grinned widely from the rear of the large car idling behind the club and Mycroft returned it in diminished form as he entered the vehicle, adoring, though, the sheen of sweat on his partner’s face.

      “Your performance was astounding, Gregory.  Positively without compare.”

      “Yes!  Wouldn’t have been worth it if my Mycroft hadn’t had a good time.  If you could never have seen me on stage, shaking my arse for the audience… that would have been a tragedy to stain my soul forever.”

      “Shaking your arse, my dear?  That is a tremendously subpar description for what you accomplished.  Do you know the power of your actions, Gregory?  No, that is a foolish thing I ask.  Of course you do and you capitalize upon that knowledge masterfully.  Simply masterfully.”

Greg beamed even brighter and wriggled happily in his seat.  He’d known he’d done well and a good bit of the reason for it was the man sitting next to him.  Knowing his Mycroft was there, watching his every move… that was a powerful motivation to give the performance of his life.  Which, in reality, it was.

      “I bet Seb and Sherlock were struck dead, though.  I considered letting them out of Phase I, but then I decided they deserved to suffer for being bastards, so I hope the suffering was mighty.”

      “Unquestionably.”

      “WooHoo!  This gets better and better.  Now, Phase II…”

Something that had been preying on Mycroft’s since the performance ended.

      “Gregory… perhaps…”

      “Yeah?”

      “Perhaps you should reconsider.”

Greg blinked in surprise then tried to catch any hint of Mycroft’s thoughts playing in his lover’s eyes, but saw nothing of help.

      “Reconsider?  Mycroft, this is… this is what you wanted?  What was best.  Remember?”

      “I remember, Gregory, but that was before… before I saw you on that stage.  You… you were indescribable, my dear.  I have never seen such undiluted sensuality in my life and… it was so profoundly clear that you exulted in your dance.  The sheer pleasure you took from your performance and the adulation you received… I knew the enormity of what I asked of you, but I did not until this night realize what that would rob from this world.  Your talent is beyond compare, my love, on film and here, when seen live, and I… I cannot say it is right or acceptable to tear it from those who appreciate it or from you who gains such delight in providing it.  This is not the only option, Gregory, and I suppose I would ask you reconsider before you make your choice a final one.”

Staring at his lover, Greg let Mycroft’s words sink in and felt his shock melt into the warmth of affection that filled his heart whenever he thought about the man he loved.  Changing his mind would cause a world of problems for Mycroft, both professional and personal.  His partner might not think he ever gave a thought about what life would be like for a man like Mycroft with a porn star on his arm, but he had.  He’d given it a great deal of thought and, in truth, he’d not been entirely certain what to do about it.  Retire?  That was good, but a _former_ porn star on your arm is only a slight notch down on the scale.  Keep their relationship secret?  No, that wasn’t the man he was, nor the man Mycroft was, either.  He hadn’t thought of a solution and hadn’t quite gained the courage to broach the issue with his lover, but, after the shock of their conversation which flipped his world on end, a shock that took no small while to lessen, he’d seen this extra silver lining on that particular cloud and it took a lot of the rain out of the storm.

      “Do you know why I love you, Mycroft?”

Now it was Mycroft’s chance to stare and he sputtered a bit before shaking his head as a feeble answer.

      “It’s because you have all the money a man could want and you get giddy over a bite of your favorite gelato.  Your influence is beyond comprehension and you still let your brother get out of most bits of trouble himself.  He’s on the other side of the line, in some ways, but you treat my son like he’s a chick in your nest.  You’ve got power with limits I’ll never be able to see, and work at a level I’ll never fully understand and you’re still a good man.  A _good_ man, Mycroft.  You’d let me throw a Godzilla-sized spanner into the works because you respect me, even if the work I do would horrify your friends and colleagues and it would muck up a lot of your plans, besides.  This is just one more in the very long line of reasons I love you.  I’m fine with my decision, love.  Happy for it, actually, now that I’ve had time to come to terms with all it means for me.  But your words are the perfect icing on my already delicious cake.”

Leaning in, Greg gave his lover a kiss that settled the last of the disquiet in Mycroft’s mind, something that gave Mycroft a sense of license to prolong and raise the heat of the kiss just a bit more than was proper given there was a driver in the car.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I hope, someday, to have even a fraction of your strength and nobility.”

      “You have a full portion, love, and you’ll get a full portion of my luscious self, too, when this is done.  Family celebration, then you and me alone in the bedroom until we fucking feel like leaving and not a minute sooner.”

      “I find that suggestion entirely to my liking.”

      “Then we have a plan.  Afterwards, a few nips and tucks, touch of work on the nose…”

      “Absolutely not.  Your nose remains pristine.”

      “My nose is a tad identifying, love.”

      “Pristine.”

Shaking his head and the finality of Mycroft’s declaration, Greg stroked his chin and hmmmm’d dramatically to indicate his immeasurable depth of thought.

      “Dental work?”

      “Never!”

      “You’re not making this easy, Mycroft.”

      “I… is it wrong to adore your face in its current form?”

      “Not wrong at all.  But you said I needed a bit of modification so I wouldn’t match my photos and films quite so exactly.”

      “Yes, however… it mustn’t change you in any way.”

      “That’s a rather tall order for the cosmetic surgeon.”

      “I suppose it is, however… I shall find an individual with an especially deft hand and sense of artistry to accomplish the task.”

      “I leave it to you, then!  Oh… we’re getting close.  I suppose I should get out here.  Everything set and ready for Phase II?”

Mycroft took out his mobile tapped a few buttons, then smiled.

      “It appears to be.”

      “News crew in place?”

      “They are covering the opening of a gallery showing around the corner from Phase II’s position and I ensured that the editor assigning the story sent the reporter you requested.”

      “Good.  I like that one.  She goes after the fat bastards in politics and business and doesn’t let them squirm away.”

      “Then do let us begin.  I shall be waiting.”

One final kiss and Greg was out of the car, shaking himself to lose the tiny bit of nerves that had crept under his skin and beginning his stroll with a little whistling that would alert the rest of the Phase II crew that he was on the way.  It had gone well in rehearsal, but things were always unpredictable when show time arrived…

__________

      “Shut it, you bastards, we’re on!”

Four bodies scrambled to find seats in front of the telly as the news came on, the lead story being the tragic murder of Gerard Lestrange, killed in cold blood by two robbers who held a noted member of the medical community at gunpoint in an attempted robbery that Mr. Lestrange tried to prevent.  CCTV footage showed the valiant entertainer trying to reason with the robbers before throwing himself in front of the shot to save the intended victim.  The hunt was now on for the men, but there were few clues and security footage from nearby businesses failed to capture a usable image of either of their faces.

      “Which is lucky, since Sherlock’s and Seb’s ugly mugs on the nation’s telly screens would cost our Mycroft a LOT of money in damages compensation.”

      “Ha ha ha, Dad.  I think that’ll happen anyway what with your daytime drama theatrics.  Were you going for a BAFTA with that performance?  Here’s a spoiler – you’re not getting it.”

      “I looked good, though.  I should be on telly more often.”

      “Your vanity, John, is as off-putting as the stench of Lestrange’s acting attempt.”

      “However, you will surely be able to share your vanity further with the general public, as I feel certain you shall be sought out for an interview.”

      “Good point, Mycroft.  I’ll choose something nice to wear and make certain to be at home all day tomorrow.”

Sherlock’s exasperated snort made John grin and Greg shake John’s hand in congratulations.

      “Excellent.  I shall ensure your efforts are rewarded with a prudent word in a useful ear.  Would, say, 10:00 am suit your schedule?”

      “I do not appreciate your bolstering of John’s thespian aspirations, Fatcroft.”

      “Enjoy being dear Doctor Watson’s trophy husband, brother.  Though I do weep for John having to manage your chaos during the various awards ceremonies he must surely attend.”

      “All John is going to attend is Lestrange’s funeral and there will more than enough chaos to manage given the likely attendees.  If the whole of London’s adult entertainment industry is not present, I shall be greatly surprised.”

Mycroft reached over to lay a hand on Greg’s knee and patted it a few times for good measure.  The grief that news of his lover’s death would inspire was the one aspect of this whole business that the actor regretted and the force of his regret was terrible, indeed.

      “Well… say hello to them for me, will you?  Or, at least, say good things about me and gather as many stories as you can.  Always good to know what people say about you when you’re not around.”

      “Don’t worry, Greg.  We’ll dig for all the truly rotten stories.  In fact… you know, someone, who could be me though I have a medical license and not a literary career, should write your biography.  Authorized by your estate, such as it is.  There could be a lot of money to be made selling all your dark secrets and perversions to the world.”

      “Oh… I like that idea.”

      “Now, now, my dear... the more attention drawn, the deeper the attention goes…”

      “Just a little biography, love?  Lots of fantastic, sexy photos and less of the wordy bits?”

      “Dad, do you have any shame whatsoever?  You’ve just died, for pity’s sake!”

      “Exactly!  Strike while the iron’s hot!  Besides, my estate, through Mycroft’s excessively convoluted legal workings, goes back to me anyway, so why shouldn’t I feather my nest with as many feathers as I can?  I suspect there’s already motion getting my films tidied and given fancier cases and the like for people who want to give them a look.  Being dead might be the smartest financial move I ever made!”

      “Mycroft, can you just write Dad a cheque so his greed can be satisfied without me having to suffer the embarrassment of seeing his saggy body and wrinkly face everywhere I look?”

      “Actually, I find the thought of Gregory’s image festooning London’s various shops and media suppliers a most thrilling thought.”

      “I’m leaving.  I am leaving London and I’m never coming back.”

      “Churlish, son.  You’ve become a surly, churlish boy.  How you sprung from my happy-go-lucky loins is a mystery to me.”

      “And on that note, I am leaving the room.  It’s not London, but it’ll do for now.”

Sebastian set his whisky glass down on Sherlock’s head and sauntered off, Mycroft suspected, to put ears to the ground for how far the news of Greg’s death had spread.  Jim’s contribution to the night’s events was to ensure the right people caught word of the situation and it would be good to know that happened sooner rather than later.

      “Sherlock, while I admit you are doing an admirable job of being a drinks tray, if you would be so good as to escort John home so that he might rest from the night’s events and prepare himself for his turn in front of the cameras tomorrow?”

John proudly cleared his throat and straightened his jumper, making his best ‘All right Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up’ face, which was more than enough to vault Sherlock off the sofa, catching the falling glass with one hand and snatching John upright with the other.

      “We are leaving.  You are contaminating John.”

Sherlock dragged his partner out of the room, while John continued to wave at his admirers, one of whom pretended to throw kisses and rose petals in his wake.

      “Well, love… we did it.  I’m dead.”

      “That you are, Gregory.  And, might I add, in style.”

      “Which was exactly my hope.  Really, how often is it a man gets to choose his own death scene?  It’s a dream come true!”

      “The valorous hero dies defending an innocent bystander… what a legacy you leave behind.”

      “I’m amazing, that is true.  But, now… to the bedroom?”

      “I believe that was the bargain.”

      “First one there gets their pick from the big red box.”

Not even starting to run, knowing his lover would cheat like a bastard to get upstairs first, Greg gathered the plates and glasses to leave in the kitchen for tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Man only dies once… that he remembers… so the celebration for it should last a good long while… hopefully, Mycroft’s house had good soundproofing, because things just might take a turn for the loud and Sebastian was far too young and innocent to learn what his dads got up to with the lights turned low…

__________

_Some time later…_

      “Hurry, love!  Seb’s supposed to be here soon!”

Laughing softly, Mycroft slipped into his shoes and admired, not for the first time, the rich blue cashmere jumper his lover had given him as an early Christmas gift.  Gregory had surprisingly good taste for what would look marvelous on him…

And that taste had not gone to waste.  Now that his beloved was free to roam at will, with the slight alteration of his cheekbones and jawline for a more… feral… appearance, the full vitality of Mr. Gregory Lestrade was released on London and London was savoring every moment of it.  The local shops had grown very fond of the man who scrupulously inspected all produce before making a purchase and had the most exacting standards for meat, cheese, fresh pasta and all other foodstuffs that might make their way into their meals.  With his time free exclusively for his personal use, Gregory had quickly dived into the things he both enjoyed or hoped to enjoy… settling into a pub that he found most to his liking, registering for classes to hone his culinary skills, taking work three mornings a week at the library and volunteering twice a month for sexual-health counseling at one of the city’s colleges, albeit with some professionally-fabricated credentials to secure the post.  His Gregory was healthy, happy, productive and, if all went well, about to receive a rather large and welcome surprise.  Given the raucous arrival of Sherlock and John was now as audible as reindeer hooves on the roof, the game, as they say, was on.

Quickly moving downstairs, Mycroft greeted John, rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s especially non-festive wardrobe choices and gave his lover a kiss, smiling mentally at how Greg was quivering in excitement at the imminent arrival of his son.  Sebastian had needed to leave London a week after they staged the death of the century and had been unable to visit again in person until now, though the frequent phone calls to Gregory and himself kept the familial bonds tightly tied.

      “John has forced me to attend, so this serves as notice that I am here under duress.”

      “Good heavens, brother, we are gathered to celebrate Christmas Eve as a family, not frolic naked in the snow.”

      “That might be more agreeable.”

      “Shut it, Sherlock.  John, good to see you.  I got that book you were looking for.  Had to order it from another library, but it came in yesterday, so remember to take that with you.”

      “Thanks, Greg.  Anything I can help you with in the kitchen?”

      “I think I’ve got it sorted, thanks, but you can pour the wine and Sherlock might…”

What it was that Sherlock might do was never discovered as a voice rang out in the entrance that made Greg’s smile light up the room.

      “In here, Seb!”

Peeking around the corner, was a set of familiar eyes, then another set that was familiar to only one other person in the house.

      “Hi, Dad… I’d… I brought someone with me, if you don’t mind.”

Laying a hand on Greg’s back to calm his excitement, Mycroft shot Sebastian an encouraging smile that finally drew out the new arrivals, one who looked about as happy to be there as Sherlock.

      “Dad… this is Jim.  Jim, that’s my dad, Greg Lestrade.  The one next to him is Dad’s boyfriend, Mycroft Holmes.  The affable looking chap is John Watson and the escapee from the Cryptkeeper’s Christmas party is John’s partner, Sherlock Holmes.”

Jim’s eyes widened and a small smile broke out on his lips, but a quick pinch by Sebastian packed that smile away for later and Jim turned his attention to the person he was under orders, on pain of death, to ‘be nice to.’

      “Hello, Mr. Lestrade.  It’s good to meet you.”

If a more deadpan delivery of two sentences had ever been uttered, the black hole they created likely sucked in trees and sheep from three miles surrounding.

      “I… oh my…”

Mycroft gave the overcome Greg a slight push forward and the hoped-for handshake became a firm hug that had Moriarty frozen in a rictus of shock.

      “It’s good to meet you, too, lad.  So very good to meet you.  I’ve heard… well, I’ve heard fuck all about you, so let’s see about changing that.  John, can you manage the wine?  Sherlock, there are a few trays of things in the kitchen for us to nibble while dinner finishes cooking itself.  Come on, Jim… I want to hear all about you.  What a fine-looking lad, you are, too.  What line of work are you in?  Don’t be bashful, either… boast to your heart’s content!”

Jim’s over the shoulder ‘help me’ went ignored by both Sebastian and Mycroft who had a moment alone to share an understanding nod and for Mycroft to show Sebastian the Christmas present he and Greg would be presenting Jim tomorrow, as had been agreed to secure Jim’s attendance, though both Sebastian and Mycroft knew fully well that the rather modest nature of the request confessed rather loudly Jim’s level of distress at the invitation.  Or lack thereof.

      “Yeah, that’s nice.  White gold?”

      “Platinum.  A small reward for his cooperation.  Though I did choose a slightly smaller diamond for I felt it would be a better complement to his somewhat… compact… frame.  Also, a tie pin should not be too overstated, else the wearer appears gauche, which we both know would not sit well with your Jim.”

The ‘your Jim’ brought a small smile to Sebastian’s lips and he turned that smile on Mycroft in thanks for being… being the right person for his father.  And for the people in his father’s life.

      “Yeah, he doesn’t appreciate vulgarity in any form, so good choice.  Well, I’d better rescue him from Dad.  He…  Dad really looked happy, didn’t he?  Really and truly happy.”

      “He did and we both would know in an instant if any of that was insincere.”

      “True.  Alright, then… we’re here for a week, at least, so we’ll see how long the happiness lasts.”

Steeling his nerves, Seb marched into the sitting room where his father was chatting merrily with his new acquaintance and Mycroft took a moment to reflect on this night and the events that brought them to it.  Not all of it had been joyful, but all had contributed to this one point in time where even he felt a sense of magic in the air.  The sort of magic that made addressing Sebastian’s worry an easily done thing.

How long would the happiness last?  For however long _they_ lasted and an eternity afterwards.  How fortunate, also, was it that the jeweler who crafted Moriarty’s tie pin also dabbled in other forms of jewelry, such as very tasteful rings that a man would feel no hesitation wearing every day of his life.  A pair of which might be sitting in a box in his pocket ready to reveal, perhaps, after they had enjoyed their first holiday meal together as a family.  A singular, chaotic, slightly felonious family, but what was life without a touch of singularity and chaos?  The felonious aspects… they could work on.  There was certainly enough time in the years to come to rein in the more creative nature of certain affairs though… oh dear.  Sherlock and Moriarty were under the same roof.  And already poised to create mayhem, regardless of the sanctity of the season.  What was John pouring, wine?  Better take the direct route straight to scotch.  Mayhem went down far more smoothly with a higher-proof beverage…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the tale has been told and I sincerely want to thank everyone for all kind words and kudos that have graced this story. Feel free to leave as many more as you wish here, or on my tumblr or twitter (eventhorizon451)!


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